Prayer for the Dead (Revenants in Purgatory) Read online

  I arrived at the office, with my tankard of coffee, to find a girl holding her own file, sitting outside my office. Mondays are controlled chaos. It wasn’t uncommon to find Reaper-less new charges, camped out in front of my door. The backlog proved to be a welcome distraction though, since giving her the general rundown ate up half the morning.

  The new charge was a seventeen-year-old named Chelsea. I hate getting the young ones—they’re the worst. There’s a lot more drama associated with them... rightfully so... but they also tend to be more impatient because, let’s face it, teenagers will be teenagers, regardless of where they are.

  I stole a peek across the desk at the blonde in a cheerleader’s uniform. The young face was scrunched up in an unflattering scowl, sizing me up as she smacked her gum. The behavior was rude but since she’d just been through a major upheaval, I gave Chelsea some leeway. I decided comfort was a better option as opposed to discipline. So I chose to break the ice with the tried and true standbys of compassion and hospitality.

  “Hello Chelsea, my name is Olivia and I’m going to be your liaison.”

  Chelsea and I stared at each other in silence. Besides being given the cold shoulder, there was something about this girl rubbing me the wrong way. She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place whom.

  I forced a smile in her direction. “Did your Reaper explain everything to you?” Receiving nothing more than an eye roll in response, I tried again. “You understand where you are and what’s happened, correct?”

  “Yeah, I know where I am. Wanna know why?” I raised my brows, waiting for the smart-mouthed answer that was sure to come, “Because I’m not stupid.”

  Oh right... I knew who she reminded me of, every snotty bitch that made my high school experience a living hell. Oh boy, lucky me, I get to put up with her for the next week.

  Why can’t I ever just get a nice old lady who’ll sit with her hands folded neatly in her lap and patiently await her turn? Her silver hair would be curled in a halo around a tiny face. She’d call me “dear” and when I’d apologize for the wait, she’d pat my hand saying, “It’s all right, honey. I’m in no hurry.” But no, instead I get Chelsea the cheerleader.

  I hate cheerleaders.

  I soldiered on anyway, launching into the same rehearsed speech I gave to everyone. “Alright, Chelsea. You’ll be here for a few days while we wait for your family to make arrangements. The average wait time is usually three days but generally no more than a week. It’s against company policy for any of the employees to contact your family or friends, so don’t ask. You’re free to move about the building, as you wish, but we ask that you refrain from going outside. If you choose to leave the building, you’ll be returned in a rather unpleasant manner.”

  Chelsea leaned her head back over the chair and sighed very loudly. “Is this some sort of punishment or something? This sucks, why can’t I just go or whatever?”

  “It’s not a punishment, just the rules. Everyone comes here first for processing. I’ll share with you an analogy I like to use for the situation. Think of it as a flight from New York to Hawaii and this place is the layover in Des Moines.”

  She tipped her head back up, causing her ponytail to flip over her shoulder. “That is the dumbest analogy I’ve ever heard.”

  Without consulting the employee handbook, I guessed that it would be frowned upon by management if I leapt across the desk to choke this girl with her blonde ponytail until she turned a lovely shade of Smurf-blue. So I let the insult slide, instead focusing my efforts on the computer. Her beady little eyes were watching me. She was waiting for a reply to the previous insult because there was another one waiting in the hanger, but I refused to give her that satisfaction.

  “Any other questions, Chelsea?”

  “Yeah, when do I go to Hawaii?”

  I replied in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “It doesn’t work that way. Not everyone goes to Hawaii. Some go straight to Tijuana.”

  Her eyes went wide as the jaw went slack. Okay, I fully admit that was a really shitty thing to say to a seventeen-year-old, but it slipped out. Besides, remember when I said I’d let the analogy insult go?

  I lied.

  My reply wiped the nasty scowl off her face, but the moment was fleeting. Her bored glower had returned. “How long have you been here?”

  “Ten years.”

  “So if everyone leaves within a week, why are you still here?”

  Before I answered, I jotted down a quick note to talk to Chelsea’s Reaper about not giving the teenage charges gum. “Well Chelsea, someone has to live in Des Moines.”

  POP!

  ...

  If I knew my meeting with Chelsea the cheerleader was an indicator of how the rest of my day would go, I would have run from the building screaming. But as it was, I had no such insight and was dealing with the next in a long line of frustrations.

  I hadn’t seen or heard a peep from Devon, which was highly unusual. Had it been a regular morning, he would have strolled by my office at least a couple of times by now. The simple fact he’d been scarce all morning left me with a knot in my gut.

  I meandered down to the break room for a much-needed java refill and, if I was lucky, a jelly donut. My little field trip took longer than expected, since some inconsiderate jackass took the last of the coffee and left the heating coil on, burning the bottom of the pot. When I returned to my office with a cup of joe, a plain cake donut, and a grumble, there were a bunch of memos taped to the door.

  Carefully balancing the most boring donut in the world atop my tumbler, I tore down all the notes as I entered my office. Setting my coffee and snack down, I scanned over the little slips of paper. I must have been preoccupied or totally riveted by the memos, because I didn’t realize there was anyone behind me until I felt a tap on my shoulder. My lack of awareness sent the papers flying from my hands when I jumped.

  “Geez, you might want to switch to de-cafe, Liv,” Devon laughed.

  “Christ, you scared me.”

  “Sorry about that. I need Chelsea Morgan’s file. She’s moving on.”

  “Already? I just processed her.”

  “Yup, turns out she came from a large family who attended one of those mega-churches. The whole congregation prayed for her right away and she met her prayer quota.”

  “Holy shit, never had a charge go that fast before.”

  Lucky bitch.

  Devon seemed relaxed, jovial, and very business as usual. Maybe I had been stressing about nothing, and we weren’t going to need to have a horrible discussion about the future of our friendship, after all. I handed over the folders and, with quick thanks, he was headed back out the door. But, just as I was breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he stopped midstride and turned around.

  “Liv, I think we need to talk about what happened Saturday night.” His expression was serious. Very not-Devon.

  In my head, I argued, No, we don’t! We’re fine. We’re good, move along, but I lowered myself into a chair, waiting for him to proceed. There was no way I was leading this conversation. I’m not sure if it was my own anxiety, or that he was masking but, for the first time in ten years, I couldn’t get a read on him. I had no idea what he was about to say or do next.

  “That kiss was amazing, right?” He smiled.

  Oh god, he’d just said the exact opposite of what I’d been hoping for. My heart sank. He crossed the room again, eyes so hopeful, as he set the folder down on my desk. I couldn’t meet them again. One glance had been enough.

  “Maybe there’s more between us than just friendship, and it might be worth exploring further. Don’t you agree?”

  He waited for a response but I couldn’t find my voice. There was no nice and easy way to say what needed to be said. Especially since I feared this would be the day our friendship ended and it was ripping a huge, Devon-sized hole in my heart. Tick... tock... tick... said the clock, in the heavy silence separating us.

  “Devon...”

  Taking me by com
plete surprise, he grabbed the arm of the chair and spun me around before dropping to his knees in an expensive, designer suit. He slapped one hand over his heart and held the other high in the air. He looked like an actor in a Shakespearian play.

  “Oh, Olivia! I love you! The kiss set my whole world on fire. I can’t live without you. Please say we can be together!”

  His declaration was rather loud and all matter of sound from the cubicles became impossibly quiet. I stole a glance in that direction to see many coworkers, still as statues, peering in at the scene through my open office door. Wow, it occurred to me then that my best friend was a world-class asshole.

  I sent a harsh glare his way. “Are you done?”

  He nodded with a smile popping back up onto his feet.

  “Just for the record, I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.” He patted my head. “Besides, it was totally worth it just to see the look on your face.”

  I dismissed him, stabbing a finger towards the door. “Get out of my office. I have work to do.” Swiping the folder off my desk, he cracked up and walked away. All joking aside, I still had to ask, “Devon, we’re good though, right?”

  “Of course we are, dork face. I’ll catch up with you later.” There was nothing hidden in his response. I shot him a quick thumbs up, as the tension released from my shoulders. Before he was completely out of my office, he called back, “Don’t be looking at my bum, Olivia.”

  Before I could help myself, that’s precisely where my eyes landed. The action in the cubicle area ground to a halt yet again, as heads turned to watch Devon walk away, and then back to me. I didn’t have much of a choice but to roll with it since I was, technically speaking, busted. So I shrugged my shoulders with a sly smile. Some of the co-workers laughed, but most of the women scowled before resuming their activities. Yeah, I was sure that little stunt made me a few more enemies, but it didn’t matter because Devon and I were still buddies, even if he was a smart ass.

  The rest of the morning and early afternoon progressed much the same as the day had begun—organized chaos. I missed my lunch hour to sit in on a phone meeting. It had just concluded when Portia came storming into my office, slamming the door behind her. I must have missed the memo about my office becoming ground-zero for spectacle.

  She glared at me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, foot tapping away in designer heels. She was clearly fit to be tied, only problem was... I had no idea why.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  She began to pace around the room, reminding me of a lawyer addressing a jury. “So, I was in my office this morning, when Nina came bouncing in.” Nina is the office gossip. We all have a love/hate relationship with her. We love her when she’s sharing juicy gossip about coworkers, but loath her when the gossip she’s sharing is about you. “She proceeded to tell me about a bum-gazing incident that happened, in this very office this morning.”

  Yep, I hated Nina.

  “About that...” I didn’t have a chance to finish.

  Portia dropped down in the chair across from me. “Oh wait,” she held up a finger at me. “Just you wait, the story gets better. I told Nina she was crazy, you would never be sexually harassing Devon. Then you were too busy to go to lunch with me today, so I had to go with Tore.”

  I laid my head down on my desk, knowing what was coming next. Nina was about to have some good company on my shit list.

  “Hey, look at me!” Portia continued and I raised my head up, resting my chin on my arms. “I don’t like finding out about your new sexual escapades from your brother. That’s your job to tell me, but I especially don’t like to hear tales that he walked in on you and Devon, practically having sex on the dining room table.”

  “Whoa, whoa... I was not having sex, or anything close, with Devon in the dining room. We were in the living room.” Her eyebrows raised in shock. “No, no, no! Not what I meant. We weren’t having sex. We were just kissing.”

  “Kissing? Since when do you two kiss?”

  “It was just that one time on Saturday.”

  “What the hell? I saw you yesterday and there was no mention of any kissing.”

  “I kind of had other things on my mind then.”

  “Oh right. Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed at the oversight, but she recovered quickly, pointing a hostile finger my direction. “You don’t now, so you best start talking. Spill it missy!”

  “Nothing happened—we were just really drunk. Did Nina tell you that he dropped to his knees and professed his undying love to me this morning, as well?” I hoped by my tone that Portia would note the sarcasm—she didn’t.

  “What!” Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

  “Oh my god, Portia, he was kidding! You should know better than to listen to Nina or Tore, for that matter. Jesus. Do you really believe, after ten years, I’d just start banging Devon on a whim and not tell you about it?”

  She digested that for a few minutes but came back with, “And the bum gazing?”

  “Meh.” I shrugged.

  “So you were sexually harassing him this morning? You are such a harlot.”

  We had a satisfying chuckle and all was right in our world again. Before she scurried off, we made plans to get together to plan the huge birthday extravaganza. Our birthdays were only a few days apart and coming up fast. She wanted to have a huge joint party—I did not. If my friends didn’t pester me every year, I’d prefer to treat my birthday as any other day. It only felt like an empty anniversary, since I died anyway.

  This year was a milestone for Portia, her eightieth. So, I figured, with a little push, I could get her to forget all about my birthday. The day may mean nothing to me anymore, but far be it for me to stand in the way if she wanted to go nuts.

  Chapter 9

  I tried to stay relatively busy the next few days, to keep my mind from wandering. But every time my thoughts vacated, Drake moved in. I hated myself for being unable to get him out of my head. His flannel still hung on the hook behind my bedroom door. It still smelled like him. Every time the scent caught me, my heart would leap with recognition and longing. I cursed myself for not leaving the damn thing in the trash where it belonged, with all of my misdirected feelings.

  Truth was, I hadn’t been truly happy in a very long time. For that one brief, shining night, I was given a taste and now I felt starved for it. At some point I’d have to let it go because, when cold, hard facts were broken down, (He already had a girlfriend and lied to get his ya-ya’s off, then dropped me like a bad habit.), the same conclusion emerged. It had all been a show, just a ruse to get me into bed, and I had been used. God, I absolutely hated him for it... most days, anyway.

  I was daydreaming at work again when instant messenger beeped, bringing me back around. I laughed when I saw the message was from the screen name Hot4U. The past week had been nothing but torment and teasing, directly related to a certain drunken make-out session. The computer beeped at me again. My tormenter was impatient today.

  Hot4U needed a file and wanted to know if I was busy, so he could come retrieve it. Since I was sitting around on my thumbs, having fantasies about a man I should have despised, and seeing how I had no new charges arriving this afternoon, it would be a welcome distraction.

  Devon popped in just as I was typing a response to an email in desperate need of attention. “Hot4U huh?”

  “You have to give me props on that one, for originality.”

  “Originality? There are horny fifteen-year-old boys with more creativity than that.”

  He held his hand over his heart. “You wound me, deeply.”

  “I doubt that,” I laughed, tossing him the file. He flipped through it for a few moments, before taking a seat across the desk from me. He pulled the chair in very close and rested his head on his arms. I returned to pounding away on the keyboard, very aware he was watching me.

  “Ooohliveeeah?” he drew out my name in a singsong manner, which could only mean one thing. He wanted somethi
ng.

  I took a sip of my coffee and continued to type. I knew this little game all too well. He was going to look up at me with those ridiculous baby blues and ask for something I wasn’t going to like.

  “Is there something else I can help you with, Devon?”

  “Funny you should ask.”

  As if I had a choice.

  “There’s an exhibit opening for an acquaintance of mine and I need a date. I was wondering if I might be able to persuade you to accompany me?” I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his finger up. “And before you say no, let me just remind you that I have run goober patrol more times than I care to count. All I’m asking is for you to return the favor.”

  “Aww Devon, you know I hate going to those events. Every woman in the office would love to hang on your arm for the evening. Why do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t want the hassle of a real date. C’mon, Liv. Please? If you decline, I’ll have no other choice but to assume our friendship is a one-way street and you don’t mind breaking my heart.” He tipped his head and stuck a lip out like a pouting child. He was such a manipulative bastard.

  “Fine, I’ll go.” I sighed. “But have I told you lately how much I hate you?”

  He smiled, his little game over with one clear victor, and he got up to leave. “Not today you haven’t, but the day’s not over yet.”

  I don’t hate all art galleries. I just hate the particular ones he drags me to. I wouldn’t mind going if the other patrons gave half a damn about the work, but most of them were yuppie yahoos there just to be seen, or to appear that they care. They purchase pieces so they’ll seem deep, or get the notoriety and prestige one can gain from owning an original piece by the next up and comer.

  I shooed him out of my office and shook my head. Sometimes, I wondered why the hell I hung out with him, but then I’d always remember. It was because he was the best friend I’d ever had.