Page 5

“Rude. And you do care. You’re a caring type of man. I saw you, you know? Coming into Afterlife Coffee with your sister. I know what you do, too. You help the souls of the men your sister has, how shall we say? Departed? Knocked off? Taken out?”

I let out a long groan. “You’re not going to stop talking, are you?”

She throws me a bored look. “Why would I do that? We have things to do. People to see. Grandchildren to woo-”

“No!” I jab a finger at her. “No wooing.”

Grammy tilts her head a little, her narrowed gaze on me. “I never picked you as the type.”

I don’t want to bite, but I do. “What type?”

“You know, into men.” She says, waving a hand in the air. “You don’t even have a rug! Or nice decor. Is it a new age thing? In my day the men were a little more put together.” I stare at her. I should stop her, but she’s on a roll. “It does throw a wrench in the works. I figured if you wooed Brenna it would make it easier for you to keep her safe, you know?”

“Why exactly do I need to keep Brenna safe?”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Because of the man.”

I groan, running a hand down my face. I don’t want to ask. I’d prefer not to ask. But Brenna is a sweetheart and Grammy won’t leave me alone until her work here is done.

Letting out a sigh I sit up in bed. “What man?”

“He watches her sometimes. And he knows things he shouldn't." Grammy gives me a serious look, her earlier bluster fading, fear showing through.

Grammy wrings her hands, and I know that even without the soul of Brenna’s grandmother on my ass I’d still protect her. Something about Brenna calls to me.

“Does this have anything to do with the soul attached to her?”

Grammy’s gaze darts to mine before she gives me an odd look. I expect an answer. What I get is her clapping her hands, pasting a grin on her face and telling me we need to get the day started.

“It’s time to greet the day, Gabriel. You’re not getting any younger you know.”

I know what she’s doing. Oddly, it's something a lot of souls do. They have unfinished business, but they also have their secrets. I’ll let her keep hers. For a little while anyway.

I blow out a breath, and fling off my covers. “Meet me in the living room.” I say, rolling to sit on the side of my bed, stretching my arms over my head.

“Put on that deep green shirt of yours. Trust me.” She winks before leaving the room, humming.

Shaking my head I do as I’m told. I have a feeling doing what Grammy wants, at least for a little while, and this early in the morning, is the least painful option. She can have her secrets. But I’ll find a way to get them out of her. Especially if it means keeping Brenna safe. And that’s the ultimate goal.

Brenna

“What are they doing over there?” I mumble as I flop over in bed, musing on the neighbors I haven’t had a chance to meet yet.

It’s been three days since the new neighbor moved in. I’m not too sure what the layout is, but I know we share my bedroom wall. Unfortunately. Either they have a TV in the bedroom, or mine backs onto their living room because I hear voices all hours of the night. Not clearly enough to make out what they’re saying, just a constant buzz of activity punctuated by one constant voice. It’s low, rumbling, soothing. But not soothing enough to drown out the noise.

Luckily for them I’m not a person who needs a lot of sleep. Thankfully. My Grammy said I have too much life inside me, that’s why I can go to bed late at night, and still pop up early the next morning, full of life.

I smile to myself as I roll onto my side, tucking my hands under my face, curling my legs up. Today is my day off so it’s laundry and visit Grammy day. It's been almost a year since she passed, but it doesn’t feel like it. Probably because it feels like she’s right here with me. I smile a little at the thought. It’s odd, I’ve never really felt alone in the world. Not even when my mom and dad were killed in a car accident on a date night. Not when I was put into foster care until they found Grammy to come take care of me. It’s like I’ve always felt someone or something watching over me. And with Grammy gone? It just feels like someone else standing beside me. I probably sound crazy, but that's how I feel I guess.

Deciding that I’d rather start the day early than drag my feet, I roll out of bed and sit in the quiet. Or relative quiet. Stretching my arms over my head I wonder if the neighbor can only sleep with the TV on. Or come to think of it, maybe a podcast? I never hear explosions or music or the usual background noises in the movie or anything. It’s intriguing, but it’s also not my business. Even if something in me urges me to find out.

It’s one of my most annoying traits. You know that voice inside you that people say you should listen to? Some call it gut feeling, others call it intuition, I call it a pain in the booty. Mine seems to talk a little too much. Especially since the newbies moved in next door.

Cracking my neck I get up, headed for the bathroom. My thoughts follow me, but I don’t mind. I do some of my best thinking when I’m peeing. I snort to myself at the thought, my mind drifting away from the neighbor and onto my outfit for the day. Laundry day usually means I’m down to my shabbiest of clothing. But not this week. I decided to treat myself last weekend and picked up some really cute pieces from the thrift store that I know Grammy would love. I of course added my own little details. A little embroidered swallow on a cream colored blouse. Some bright yellow buttons on a blue cardigan. Mushroom appliques on the butt pockets of my new jeans. It’s the perfect outfit to greet the day with.

Excitement fizzes through me as I pull myself together for the day. My long, orange hair is behaving itself. The curls settling into uniform ringlets instead of crazy frizz. My skin has a healthy glow thanks to taking my lunch breaks on a park bench across from my emo place of work and, well, I don’t know. Something feels different. I feel different. Like inside me my cells fizz and pop with energy.

Hmmm, maybe the neighbor has a sleep podcast they listen to and it’s benefitting the both of us? Whatever it is, it's working. I take one last look at myself in the mirror before deciding on a quick flick of brown mascara. I’m feeling myself today so why shouldn’t my lashes? Giving myself a little nod and a pat on my back I slip on my yellow ballet flats, pick up my Vincent Van Gogh Sunflowers tote and fling my front door open wide only to jump back with a screech as I run into the back of a very large man.