out to touch Agnes….
And then the poor schmuck promptly dispersed in a puff of spiritual smoke.
Agnes threw down her knitting needles in a huff. “ Patrick Harrison Bryant !” she bellowed.
Karin chuckled. “Ooh. You got Harrison.”
Patrick waved her off. “C’mon now, wanna come along as we fish Benji out of the ball pit?”
Karin stepped back and held up her hands. “That’s all you, big guy. I don’t tread on Agnes’s turf.”
“But it’s fun.” Patrick batted his lashes.
“Until Agnes decides to throw you in and not pull you out.” She slapped his shoulder. “Now, go get your precious sweet cupcake.”
Patrick happily gave her the customary salute of the middle finger.
Chapter Five: BRESIA
Benji felt weightless. But also like he was lying in bed, if bed was a cloud that smelled like plastic. He shifted, his stomach swooping like he was falling as the small movement dipped him lower.
His eyes shot open. The darkness around him felt like it had weight. He moved again, managing a breathless shriek when he sank deeper into the nothingness.
“Welcome to drama queen, population one,” he heard from somewhere above him.
“You have no business here. Don’t you have someone to haunt in the café?”
That voice was unfamiliar, but the first one—Benji racked his brain, trying to figure out how he knew it. It gave him something to focus on aside from the blinding terror he’d felt a moment ago, which was nice.
“I’m not bringing him up until you’re gone. Go,” the second voice said. Benji recognized the tone. She had to be a teacher. No one could nail disappointed condescension quite as well as a teacher.
“He needs—”
The woman snorted. “What he needs to do is accomplish what he was put here to do so he can move on.”
“I’m wounded, Agnes. That feels like a dig at me, not a statement about our dear Benjamin.”
“We hear what we want to hear, Patrick,” the woman said.
Patrick! Benji took another breath, grimacing when the inhalation brought more plastic-scented air into his lungs. He was in the ball pit at CASA. Because he was dead.
Jesus.
Benji went limp, letting himself sink deeper into the balls. He didn’t want to see Patrick. He didn’t particularly want to see this Agnes woman either, but needs must. He’d rather the devil he didn’t know than the one he did in this instance.
Though Patrick had been adamant that this wasn’t hell. Were there devils in purgatory? Probably. And Patrick, with his sinful good looks and screw-everything attitude, was definitely a prime candidate to be one.
He stayed under a few more minutes until a bejeweled and wrinkled hand thrust down into the balls.
“Patrick’s gone. It’s time to come out,” Agnes said.
Benji put his hand in hers, wincing at her surprisingly tight grip as she pulled him up. He gasped when his head broke the surface, the open air tasting sweet and light on his tongue after the heavy, fetid atmosphere at the bottom of the pit.
There wasn’t any accompanying relief in his lungs, though. He took another cautious breath, alarm spiking through him when he realized his chest wasn’t moving.
“We don’t need to breathe. Most of us do, just because it’s familiar. But that’s a corporeal need, son, and we’re most certainly not corporeal anymore.”
He’d only met Agnes briefly before everything had gone dark, but she sounded much kinder than she had when she’d been dressing Patrick down a few minutes ago.
Benji swallowed hard. There was saliva in his mouth, but he probably didn’t need that anymore, either. If they didn’t need to breathe, he doubted they needed to eat or drink. That revelation made Patrick’s obsession with sitting in the café even more curious.
“New Guides are usually paired with Karin, but Patrick got to you first, I’m afraid,” Agnes continued, her expression dour. “We used to have someone else who—” She shook her head. “The past is the past. Karin should
And then the poor schmuck promptly dispersed in a puff of spiritual smoke.
Agnes threw down her knitting needles in a huff. “ Patrick Harrison Bryant !” she bellowed.
Karin chuckled. “Ooh. You got Harrison.”
Patrick waved her off. “C’mon now, wanna come along as we fish Benji out of the ball pit?”
Karin stepped back and held up her hands. “That’s all you, big guy. I don’t tread on Agnes’s turf.”
“But it’s fun.” Patrick batted his lashes.
“Until Agnes decides to throw you in and not pull you out.” She slapped his shoulder. “Now, go get your precious sweet cupcake.”
Patrick happily gave her the customary salute of the middle finger.
Chapter Five: BRESIA
Benji felt weightless. But also like he was lying in bed, if bed was a cloud that smelled like plastic. He shifted, his stomach swooping like he was falling as the small movement dipped him lower.
His eyes shot open. The darkness around him felt like it had weight. He moved again, managing a breathless shriek when he sank deeper into the nothingness.
“Welcome to drama queen, population one,” he heard from somewhere above him.
“You have no business here. Don’t you have someone to haunt in the café?”
That voice was unfamiliar, but the first one—Benji racked his brain, trying to figure out how he knew it. It gave him something to focus on aside from the blinding terror he’d felt a moment ago, which was nice.
“I’m not bringing him up until you’re gone. Go,” the second voice said. Benji recognized the tone. She had to be a teacher. No one could nail disappointed condescension quite as well as a teacher.
“He needs—”
The woman snorted. “What he needs to do is accomplish what he was put here to do so he can move on.”
“I’m wounded, Agnes. That feels like a dig at me, not a statement about our dear Benjamin.”
“We hear what we want to hear, Patrick,” the woman said.
Patrick! Benji took another breath, grimacing when the inhalation brought more plastic-scented air into his lungs. He was in the ball pit at CASA. Because he was dead.
Jesus.
Benji went limp, letting himself sink deeper into the balls. He didn’t want to see Patrick. He didn’t particularly want to see this Agnes woman either, but needs must. He’d rather the devil he didn’t know than the one he did in this instance.
Though Patrick had been adamant that this wasn’t hell. Were there devils in purgatory? Probably. And Patrick, with his sinful good looks and screw-everything attitude, was definitely a prime candidate to be one.
He stayed under a few more minutes until a bejeweled and wrinkled hand thrust down into the balls.
“Patrick’s gone. It’s time to come out,” Agnes said.
Benji put his hand in hers, wincing at her surprisingly tight grip as she pulled him up. He gasped when his head broke the surface, the open air tasting sweet and light on his tongue after the heavy, fetid atmosphere at the bottom of the pit.
There wasn’t any accompanying relief in his lungs, though. He took another cautious breath, alarm spiking through him when he realized his chest wasn’t moving.
“We don’t need to breathe. Most of us do, just because it’s familiar. But that’s a corporeal need, son, and we’re most certainly not corporeal anymore.”
He’d only met Agnes briefly before everything had gone dark, but she sounded much kinder than she had when she’d been dressing Patrick down a few minutes ago.
Benji swallowed hard. There was saliva in his mouth, but he probably didn’t need that anymore, either. If they didn’t need to breathe, he doubted they needed to eat or drink. That revelation made Patrick’s obsession with sitting in the café even more curious.
“New Guides are usually paired with Karin, but Patrick got to you first, I’m afraid,” Agnes continued, her expression dour. “We used to have someone else who—” She shook her head. “The past is the past. Karin should
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