RIP Andrea
A dark flash by Maggie Slater
I’d never seen a ghost until the day Andrea’s spirit wandered into Sacred Grounds six years after her fatal car accident. I’d like to say that I accepted this glimpse through the veil with scientific curiosity, but the truth is I choked on a mouthful of latte to keep it from spewing out all over my laptop and scaled the back of my throat. Eyes watering, nose burning, I bolted for the bathroom.
I splashed cold water over my face as my heart hammered double-speed. A part of me wondered if this was what dying of fright felt like. Would a weary barista find my blue-lipped corpse crumpled on the bathroom tiles?
Sucking in a deep breath, I rationalized: It couldn’t have been her. But in my soul, I knew what I’d seen. She’d looked exactly like she had the last time I saw her before she moved to Chicago, the way she still looked in my mind’s eye when a whiff of cinnamon caught my nose. They say parents should never bury their children, but besties should die Notebook-style, hand-in-hand at a nursing home.
I peeped out of the bathroom, fully expecting to leave the café questioning my sanity and ringing up my therapist for an extra session, but no: there she was. Sitting at a two-person table not ten feet away from me with a steaming mug and one of her lovely journals. It was her. She was back. But why?
I dropped into the seat across from her. “Andrea?”
The expression on her face when she recognized me was something I would have pegged at dismay or even fear. “H-hey. Bethany. Wow.”
Her voice was as clear as a bell tolling, and we both fell into silence. My head whirled with questions: Why me? Why now?
And then it hit me: I hadn’t returned to Sacred Grounds since that awful text from Joel telling me the news. After years clawing myself out of the grief and depression, I’d finally decided to leave the bad memories behind and start over in Nashville. But I’d wanted to say goodbye to our old favorite spot first.
And here was Andrea. Had she not moved on? Was she trapped here? Had she been waiting all this time for me to gather the courage to finally step foot in this place again?
“It’s good to see you,” I said. “It’s been so long.”
“Yeah,” Andrea said. She set her pen aside and closed her journal. “Wow. Um, look, Bethany, I know what you’re thinking…”
“You died.”
She scrunched up her nose and sucked in a breath. “About that… It wasn’t my idea, really. I’d just kind of hoped things would peter out, you know, after I moved, but then you were getting so upset, and I didn’t know what to do, and then when you threatened to come up to Chicago to talk in person, Joel thought, well, it’d just be easier for everyone if…” She bit her lip like she always did when she was lying, trying to be nice.
I realized with a jolt of horror that she didn’t know she was dead. She was trapped here between this plane and the next, I felt a pang of guilt that almost brought tears to my eyes. If I’d only come sooner-!
“I’m so sorry, Bethany,” she said. “It was so immature, and it wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t think I’d bump into you here, it’s been so long, and I’m just… I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said, voice croaking. “I’m just happy to see you. It’s been so hard since you… I can’t even imagine how it must feel, being stuck like this.”
Andrea frowned at me as a truck on the street outside rumbled past, rattling her coffee mug. “Stuck?”
“You’re dead, Andrea,” I said. “You died six years ago. I’m so sorry, that must be awful to hear…”
I reached out to take her hand in mine, to show her how she’d pass through me, vaporous, immaterial, but she snatched her fingers back at the last moment and sat staring at me with what I could only describe as wretched fear.
“What? No. No, Bethany, you don’t get it. Maybe I’m not explaining it right. Joel just said I was dead. It was a lie, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. I think you thought we were closer than we were, and I know that’s awful, but-”
She was in denial. She couldn’t bear the truth, so she was running from it. That’s why she was still here. She needed me. Just like I’d needed her all those years ago, when I’d taken her support for granted and leaned too hard on her, all things I’d since worked out with my therapist. But now she needed me, her best friend, one last time to put things right.
Andrea gathered her things. “I- I need to go.”
“Yes!” I said, and rose with her. Had she finally understood? I felt a flutter of relief mingled with disappointment that I hadn’t had to dig deeper to help. I would have liked to prove the lengths I’d go to in order to pay her back for all those joyful years we shared. “I’ll come with you as far as I can, okay? So don’t be scared.”
“No, I- I need to leave. It was a mistake coming here. Sorry, Bethany, I’m really…truly sorry.”
She made for the café door, and I kept close, scared that she got away from me, that I’d never know if she found peace. And she deserved that. For once in your miserable life, I told myself, do something for her, even if it makes you uncomfortable.
She wove through oncoming foot traffic with inhuman speed. It was all I could do to keep her swinging brown hair in sight as she tried to leave me behind again.
But I wouldn’t give up. I wouldn’t collapse into self-pity like I had before. This time, I’d do what was best for her.
She stopped at a corner to wait for the light to change, and I finally caught up. She needed this closure, and she couldn’t hear it, so I needed to prove it beyond a doubt.
A delivery truck tore down the street in the nearest lane, and I gave her the slightest shove. She shrieked and lurched forward off the curb.
The truck plowed through her, brakes squealing, and slammed into a row of newspaper boxes down the sidewalk. The crowd rushed past me, voices raised in shock, necks craning towards the accident.
I was the only one who saw Andrea there in the lane, clutching her transparent shoulders and staring at me with realization in her eyes.
“You see?” I said, feeling my heart ache for her as she looked down, registering her phantom hands. “It’s time to move on. Don’t worry about me. You’re free.”
Sirens whined above the cacophony of screaming voices and honking cars, and the odor of burning flesh and rubber wafted over me, but it felt hundreds of miles away. She and I stood at the edge of the physical plane. After this, I’d never see her again.
I couldn’t help it: I started crying.
“Rest in peace, Bestie,” I whispered, and then she was gone.
Hi there! If you don’t know me, I’m Maggie Slater. I write speculative fiction of a variety of stripes ranging from outright horror, sci-fi, and fantasy to strange, humorous literary stuff. My work has appeared in genre mags like Apex Magazine, Metaphorosis, and even got translated into Mandarin for Science Fiction World, as well as in literary magazines like Redivider and The Core Review.
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