The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) by Amber Benson Page B
Authors: Amber Benson
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feelings.
“No, it has nothing to do with their personality. It’s the pain and suffering they get exposed to, it becomes overwhelming after a while.”
Jennice understood what Clio was driving at—and she figured if she were healing a lot of different people all the time, then maybe things would be different. But she was only helping her mother, and as tiring as that could be, the love she bore for the woman who’d raised her lifted away any of the bad thoughts, probably protecting her from the burnout Clio had mentioned.
“I don’t do it very often,” she said, finally.
“That’s probably why you’re as well-adjusted as you are,” Clio agreed. “For someone in the supernatural world, that is.”
Jennice was very curious about the “supernatural” world Clio was referring to, but she didn’t want to reveal too much about herself. And asking questions meant she’d have to give answers in return, something she didn’t know if she was ready to do. So she decided to keep her mouth shut and not broach the one subject she was dying to know more about:
Where were the other people like her? And why had she never met any of them?
If she’d grown up with even
one
other kid who understood what it was like to be different, she knew her life would’ve been easier. Except for her mother, there’d never been anyone else to confide in, or share her secrets with, and it’d made for a very lonely childhood.
And this was when Jennice realized, to her own dismay, that she was tired of being alone. She wanted to reveal her secrets to someone else, someone who would understand—and she thought maybe, just maybe, Clio might be that person.
Filled for the first time with the desire to know who and whatshe was—a yearning she hadn’t even known she’d possessed—she opened her mouth and asked what she’d never been able to give voice to before:
“Tell me about the ‘supernatural’ world. I want to know what I’ve been missing.”
seven
Howard was not prepared for the next phase of his death. The first part, the leaving the body and becoming a ghost part had been easy enough. It was the “what happens next” that stumped him.
He’d stuck around the retirement home for a while, watching as the aides cleared out the other residents from the area. They’d mostly ignored his body while they tried to calm everyone down and get them back to their rooms. He supposed he wasn’t really a priority since Medicare and Social Security wouldn’t be sending the home a monthly check on his behalf anymore, but still he felt sorry for his former physical self. In his mind, his body resembled a limp marionette puppet waiting for its master to pick up the strings and make it dance—though no one would ever pick up Howard’s strings again. They’d been severed and now he was free floating, a ghostly presence in the midst of the living.
He hadn’t tried to get anyone’s attention, figuring if they couldn’t see him standing there, then he was long gone from the realm of human senses. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted any of them to know he was still lingering around. None of them cared if he was dead or not. He hadn’t felt close to another human being since his wife’s death—
His thoughts ground to a halt as he found himself excited by something for the first time since he’d ceased existing among the living.
If he was a ghost, then maybe his wife was one, too.
He couldn’t shake the idea, once he’d come up with it. It was like a record player stuck on repeat.
How did one go about finding other dead people?
He couldn’t just get out the Yellow Pages and look her up, and there weren’t any other ghosts to ask. He didn’t know what to do. He sat down on one of the now-empty card tables, a half-finished game of UNO spread before him. He reached out, intending to flip one of the un-played cards over, but his fingers went right through it.
But I’m sitting on the card table,
he thought, curious
“No, it has nothing to do with their personality. It’s the pain and suffering they get exposed to, it becomes overwhelming after a while.”
Jennice understood what Clio was driving at—and she figured if she were healing a lot of different people all the time, then maybe things would be different. But she was only helping her mother, and as tiring as that could be, the love she bore for the woman who’d raised her lifted away any of the bad thoughts, probably protecting her from the burnout Clio had mentioned.
“I don’t do it very often,” she said, finally.
“That’s probably why you’re as well-adjusted as you are,” Clio agreed. “For someone in the supernatural world, that is.”
Jennice was very curious about the “supernatural” world Clio was referring to, but she didn’t want to reveal too much about herself. And asking questions meant she’d have to give answers in return, something she didn’t know if she was ready to do. So she decided to keep her mouth shut and not broach the one subject she was dying to know more about:
Where were the other people like her? And why had she never met any of them?
If she’d grown up with even
one
other kid who understood what it was like to be different, she knew her life would’ve been easier. Except for her mother, there’d never been anyone else to confide in, or share her secrets with, and it’d made for a very lonely childhood.
And this was when Jennice realized, to her own dismay, that she was tired of being alone. She wanted to reveal her secrets to someone else, someone who would understand—and she thought maybe, just maybe, Clio might be that person.
Filled for the first time with the desire to know who and whatshe was—a yearning she hadn’t even known she’d possessed—she opened her mouth and asked what she’d never been able to give voice to before:
“Tell me about the ‘supernatural’ world. I want to know what I’ve been missing.”
seven
Howard was not prepared for the next phase of his death. The first part, the leaving the body and becoming a ghost part had been easy enough. It was the “what happens next” that stumped him.
He’d stuck around the retirement home for a while, watching as the aides cleared out the other residents from the area. They’d mostly ignored his body while they tried to calm everyone down and get them back to their rooms. He supposed he wasn’t really a priority since Medicare and Social Security wouldn’t be sending the home a monthly check on his behalf anymore, but still he felt sorry for his former physical self. In his mind, his body resembled a limp marionette puppet waiting for its master to pick up the strings and make it dance—though no one would ever pick up Howard’s strings again. They’d been severed and now he was free floating, a ghostly presence in the midst of the living.
He hadn’t tried to get anyone’s attention, figuring if they couldn’t see him standing there, then he was long gone from the realm of human senses. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted any of them to know he was still lingering around. None of them cared if he was dead or not. He hadn’t felt close to another human being since his wife’s death—
His thoughts ground to a halt as he found himself excited by something for the first time since he’d ceased existing among the living.
If he was a ghost, then maybe his wife was one, too.
He couldn’t shake the idea, once he’d come up with it. It was like a record player stuck on repeat.
How did one go about finding other dead people?
He couldn’t just get out the Yellow Pages and look her up, and there weren’t any other ghosts to ask. He didn’t know what to do. He sat down on one of the now-empty card tables, a half-finished game of UNO spread before him. He reached out, intending to flip one of the un-played cards over, but his fingers went right through it.
But I’m sitting on the card table,
he thought, curious
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