Read Online This is Your Afterlife by Vanessa Barneveld - Free Book Online Page B

shiny black bag. It’s a scene I’ve watched in countless crime shows. In real life, it’s like a horror movie. Five people struggled in the shallows trying to drag Jimmy out. One of them kept slipping and falling over the body. The act of sliding him into the bag was an equally graceless and unsettling act.
    Charlie approaches us. He pats Dan on the shoulder. “Again, I’m sorry about Jimmy. He was a great, great guy. Great player. I just... Why don’t you go on back to the parking lot and wait for your mom and dad. They’re on their way from the airport.”
    Dan shakes his head vigorously. “No. I’m staying right here with my brother.”
    â€œI’ll take you back, Dan,” I say in a soft voice.
Me and the real Jimmy
.
    He glances from me to the body bag, then back to me again. With my eyes, I implore him to come with us.
    â€œOkay,” he says finally. But it takes him a full minute to put one foot in front of the other.
    I make a move to follow, but Charlie hooks my elbow. His sunglasses are off. And so, it seems, are the gloves.
    â€œNot so fast, Keira.” His eyes bore holes into me. “You’re gonna answer a few questions.”
    I freeze on the spot. Logically, I know it’s reasonable that he wants to question me, since I found the body. What I need to figure out, though, is how much to reveal. I know now that Jimmy’s ghost is not an imaginary friend. He’s
real.
I just can’t see how anyone would accept that I can suddenly communicate with the dead.
    â€œAm I under arrest?” I try for defiance but my voice comes out weak and timid. “I-I-I didn’t do anything.”
    Charlie crosses his arms. “I wasn’t gonna cuff you at least until I questioned you, but if you’re just gonna confess outright, maybe I
should
read you your rights.”
    Dan hovers a few feet away, grief-stricken. Or guilt-stricken, depending on how you look at it. Jimmy stands with him, though he can’t take his eyes off the stretcher holding his body.
    â€œNow, we’re gonna go through one thing at a time. Why did you skip school and come here?” Charlie asks, pen poised over a small spiral notebook.
    â€œI...I did go to school. I had a midterm.”
    â€œBut you cut class. Was there a good reason for that?” Charlie assesses me coolly as I struggle to find an answer.
    Pressure builds up behind my eyes. Gallons of tears are just waiting to pour out. But I refuse to let them loose. No one likes criers. Especially the cops. “I just... I’m collecting... things...data for a science project. Yeah, data on algae.”
    â€œHuh. When did Mr. Simpson assign that?” Dan asks.
    I throw him a dark look. Is he actually trying to get me arrested? In a squeaky voice, I say, “It’s for extra credit.”
    Charlie’s gaze darts around. “Where’s your equipment? Pen? Paper?”
    A lizard darts between rocks. I wish I could shrink myself down and hide, too. Hand shaking, I draw out my iPhone. “I...I record all my observations on this.”
    â€œI see. Amazing what you can do with those things, isn’t it?” Charlie says, and writes a note of his own. “I might have to take a look at that myself if you don’t mind.”
    â€œMind?” I repeat in a high voice. “No, no. Don’t mind at all. Whenever you’re ready. Just say the word. After you get a subpoena.”
    Quit while you’re ahead,
suggests my internal critic
.
But if I were to change my story, tell him the truth, that’ll look just as suspicious. Best to say as little as possible.
    He glares, then jots a few words and firmly underlines them. “Did you know this is a place he frequented?”
    â€œAll the seniors hang out here,” I say, wary of volunteering any more information worthy of underlining.
    â€œWhen did you last see Jimmy?”
    Dead or alive?
    â€œUm... Monday. In