My Way to Hell (8 page)

Kellen’s eyes held no apology and only a smidge of sheepish when they pinned her to the door. “Look, she was crying. What can I say? I can’t stand to see her cry.”

Marcella clamped her fingers together in an open-and-shut motion. “Blah, blah, blah. She played you like a Stradivarius, buddy. All you’ve done is bought her the time she needs to figure this out. Now, instead of focusing on what she’s wanted most of her adult life, she’s going to be up until the wee hours of the morning, reading those stupid books for a clue to help me that doesn’t exist. In the meantime, I’m stuck with you. That makes for a very unhappy Marcella. If I’m unhappy, you can count on the fact that you’ll feel my back draft.”

Kellen’s laughter pinged off the walls, and his half grin caught her off guard. “I don’t doubt it, but I’m willing to suffer if it makes Delaney happy, and knowing where you are apparently makes her happy. So get over yourself and explain the part about not being able to get back to this plane you’ve been on.”

Marcella paused. That had been an egregious admittance on her part. Had she kept her big mouth shut, she could have slunk off somewhere until she figured it out. “Like you’d have a solution? You’re no John What’sHisFace. And there’s nothing to explain. I don’t know how to get back.”

“How did you get here to begin with?”

Marcella popped her lips. “Oh, now, c’mon, Kellen. Don’t play shy. I think it had a little something to do with you and your
visualization
.” She shot him a kittenish smile, fluttering her eyelashes. “I guess because you’re a legit medium, and you knew me when I was earthbound, you had the power to conjure me up. It doesn’t matter how I got here. How the hell do I get back?”

Kellen’s gaze swept over her torn dress. “You obviously haven’t been able to achieve the high level of maintenance you had when you were here. So why would you want to go back?”

“Because that means I’m not stuck here with you?”

“Could we be serious here?”

“No. The only thing that’s serious is how damned dumb it was of you to tell Delaney I’d help you. You took advantage of me because I have no voice, and that’s low, pal. I don’t want to help you.”
Because if I help you, I’ll have to smell your cologne, hear that sexy rasp of your voice when you’re yelling at me all het up about something. Keep my hands off you while I’m reminded I can never have you.
Why it was so hard to deal with now, when she’d been doing it for ten years, left her puzzled. Maybe the answer lay in how disconnected she now was from the only two humans she’d known so personally.

“That’s unfortunate” was his bland, disinterested answer.

Fists clenched, she narrowed her eyes in anger and hissed, “Look, you ghost whisperer by proxy, here’s what’s unfortunate—” Just as her windup began, Marcella experienced that odd tugging sensation she’d felt earlier, rippling along her body in short jolts. Her legs grew weak and her vision blurry. Reaching behind her for an anchor, she stumbled backward with a gasp.

“Oh, lay off the drama, Marcella,” Kellen rumbled, but his warning was watery and filled with static. “You’re not going to get out of this with one of your infamous hissy fits.”

Marcella wanted to strike back. In fact, if he didn’t knock it off, she’d definitely put striking back at the top of her list of things to do the next time they tangled. However, as of this moment, she had no power to do anything but go with the strange tug and pull of whatever was sucking her out of Delaney’s bathroom and dumping her into what looked like a small child’s room.

That was, if the toy soldiers and tanks littering the floor were any indication.

Just when she saw a boy sprawled on the bed, its dark blue bedspread showing various stages of the moon, he looked up as though he sensed she was in the room. Green eyes, wide and innocent, scanned the far wall until he located her.

Marcella winced, waiting for him to freak. She had just appeared out of thin air. When silence greeted her ears, she popped one eye open to find the young boy staring at her. His grin was toothy, his expression not even a little surprised.

There was no fear when he looked directly at her.

There was no tremble in his voice when he said, “I saw you today. I’m Carlos. Who’re you?”

Delaney smiled happily at Clyde from across their kitchen table, threading her fingers through his while they listened to Kellen bellow. Anyone who didn’t have the gift would think it was just him lovin’ up the sound of his own voice. “Aw, listen. Hissing and spitting has occurred. It’s only been a couple of minutes since I forced them to forge a bond made in Hell, and already they’re playing well in a team setting,” she doted. “Bet Marcella’s pissed. All that crap Kellen fed me about how happy she’d be to help him is just that. Crap.”

Her husband grunted. “Honey?”

“Clyde?”

“You did a bad, bad thing.”

She lifted her eyes just enough to chance a quick glimpse at his handsome face. “Well, some might call it bad. I call it innovative and acting fast on my feet.”

“Honey, you can’t force Marcella to stay where she doesn’t want to be.”

“Do you really believe she wants to be on some plane where the undecideds roam? Do you remember that plane?”

Clyde’s right eye twitched from behind his glasses. “I do, and it had its ugly moments. But you’re taking matters into your own hands for both Kellen and Marcella. And if you’re being honest with yourself, it isn’t because you want Marcella to be able to shop again.”

“Okaaay, okay. I admit it’s selfish, but if she helps Kellen, it’ll buy—”

“You time to figure out how to get her back here. Maybe she really does just want some peace.”

“Really, is there any other kind of inner peace like a shopping spree and a spa day for someone like Marcella?”

“Delaney . . .” Clyde’s voice, the practical though indulgent one, sent out a warning.

“I’ll be careful. Promise. Besides, it’ll do them both some good. It’ll teach Kellen to hone his communication skills with the dead, and it’ll force Marcella to realize how much she wants to be back here on Earth.”

“Just a thought, but how do you suppose Marcella’s bickering with your brother is going to make her pine for her old demonic life?”

“Oh, honey. Haven’t you paid attention to me—even once? Marcella’s hot for Kellen. She always has been. Kellen’s hot for her, too. The more one-on-one time they spend together, the more Marcella will want to find a way back—to Kellen, and me as a by-product.” Delaney gave him a satisfied grin.

“But I thought Kellen hated demons.”

Her expression was sweet and full of innocence. “But Marcella isn’t a demon anymore. She’s a ghost.”

Ever contrary, Clyde replied with, “But if she manages to get back, won’t she be a demon again?”

She waved her hand with a dismissive gesture. “Technicalities. Look, all I know is this. Kellen, whether he’ll admit it or not, has always been attracted to Marcella. The demon thing is a problem, yes. But I’d bet my whole stash of valerian root he’d change his mind if he could just experience the woman I know. Not the one who hurls insults at him, but the one who kept us together at all costs. Remember her? We’re the reason why she’s wherever she is.”

“I do, and every day I’m grateful to her for the second chance she gave me. Gave us.” He nibbled at the tip of her finger then frowned. “Did she ever tell you how she became a demon anyway? I’ve always wondered, especially since she wasn’t anything like the freaks I ran into during my stint. Becoming a demon happens via choice, unless she did something really shitty and was left with no choice.”

“Nope. I never asked and she never told. But I just know it had nothing to do with her being evil. I know it here.” She pointed to her chest in the general vicinity of her heart.

“Could it be that you’re just wrapped up in the romance of it all?”

Sticking her tongue out at him, she said, “Could it be you’re just wrapped up in the überlogical? I don’t think I’m romanticizing this at all. I just know my friend and the woman who saved us couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—have done anything heinous enough to have made her final destination Hell. And that’s that.”

 

 

 

“You can see me?”

“Uh-huh.” Carlos bent his dark head to gather up a plastic army man.

Her thoughts came in choppy rushes. He could see her. He wasn’t screaming for his mother in terror. Oddly, he’d hardly missed a beat while playing with the plastic toys on his bed. In fact,
she
might scream for his parents because she was so freaked out that he wasn’t freaking out. How the hell had she landed in the bedroom of a kid who couldn’t be more than eight or nine? “You’re not afraid of me?” She’d be afraid of her.

His glossy head shook. “Nuh-uh. You’re just a lady.”

Yeah. A lady. In. Your. Room. How had this happened? She didn’t even like kids. She had no idea how to relate to them. “I am, at that. Just a lady. Nothing to be afraid of. So, your name’s Carlos? I’m Marcella.”

“That’s a weird name.” He giggled on his words, scrunching his nose up.

Like Carlos was a top pick.

“You look sorta like my mom, but her hair’s shorter.”

Marcella almost snorted. She did not either look like
anyone’s
mother. Moms didn’t look like this. Her boobs were too frisky, her belly too flat and concave. “That’s nice. So what are you playing?”

He held up an army man and gave her an impatient roll of his eyes. “Duh. Army.”

Duh. Okay. Painfully, and ever so obviously, small talk and kids weren’t her thang. Figuring out how he’d gotten her here was. Because she wanted out before she got caught scaring tweens. “Do you know how I got here, Carlos?”

“Nope.”

What a fount of helpful information. Marcella frowned.

“You wanna play army with me?”

Like her ass wanted cellulite. “Maybe another time.”

“I’ll let you have the general.”

Superfly. “I think I’ll have to pass.”

“But the general’s the best guy in the army.”

“I thought colonels were the big guys.”

Carlos giggled again, strangely sweet and almost infectious to her ears. “That’s stupid. The general’s the biggest guy in the army. Mine has five stars,” he gloated.

So? I can walk through walls.
“I’ll try to remember that. But no, thank you. Don’t you have some friends you can play army with?”

For the first time, he looked away, casting his eyes back down at the green figures while his slight shoulders shrugged. “No.”

It wasn’t as much the word “no” as it was the flat tone of his response that made her heart jerk. “You don’t have any friends?” Didn’t eight-year-olds hang out together in grimy, snot-nosed packs, playing video games and soccer?

“Not really.”

“I know how that feels.”

“You don’t have any friends either?” His face brightened—like they’d just bonded over their social ineptitude.

“Nope.” Not any that could see her, anyway.

“It sucks sometimes.”

The impulse to reach out and soothe him by ruffling his hair grew intense with a rush of lonely sympathy. Marcella fisted her hands at her sides instead. “Sometimes.”

The skitter of fingers against Carlos’s bedroom door made her jump. “Carlos? Dinner. I make you tamales. Hurry so dey don’t get cold.” Footsteps, light and brisk, made their way down what Marcella supposed was a hallway.

Carlos slid off the edge of the bed, his legs clearly reluctant. “I gotta go eat. Will you be here when I come back?” His gaze, dark and longing, was so hopeful, Marcella almost couldn’t breathe from it.

She bit the inside of her mouth. At the rate she was going, who knew where she’d be by the time he had tamales splattered down his crisply clean shirt? Yet she didn’t have the heart to tell him no. The thought actually hurt. Hurt. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise. I sort of just show up, you know?”

He placed a small fist around the doorknob. “Yeah. I know. ’Bye, Marcella,” he said, the flat tone of his words returning. Carlos let the door close with a soft hush against the red carpet covering his floor.

“’Bye, Carlos,” she whispered. Watching his bright-orange-clad back disappear from view gave her an inexplicable pull, a sad throb of her heart, making more tears well up in her eyes.

Jesus. What was it with all the crying? Was this some kind of afterlife payback because she’d skipped through menopause with nary a night sweat to her credit?

Swiping at her eyes with her thumbs, Marcella gave one last glance around Carlos’s bedroom. The bright primary colors that graced the walls, the mobile of army planes that hung from the fan on the ceiling all beckoned her to sit at the edge of his bed, making her want to take the knitted blanket on the bedpost and hold it to her nose so she could deeply inhale this child’s scent.

Since when was she into snarfing up the sweaty, toe-jammed odor of some kid she didn’t even know?

Fuck-all if she didn’t need to get back to Plane Dismal and head straight for some of those classes she’d been too busy moping in the first time around to garner any helpful information.

Surely, in one of them, there was an answer to this pathetic melancholy she was experiencing—this rush of hormonally imbalanced fucked-uppedness.

Maybe they had afterlife estrogen patches.

I’ll take a full body one, please
.

 

 

 

“Joe, I don’t get it. I want to help. I really do, but I’m lost. You show up here, throwing around random words and euphemisms, and look at me like I should know how they translate to what it is you need. This is the second day in a row you’ve done it. So, care to explain in complete sentences how exactly I can help you?” Kellen dragged another box straight through the fluttering image of Yankees great Joe DiMaggio. He bounced a transparent baseball from hand to hand, grinning. “What does monkey business have to do with anything?”