This story is a sequel to "Introducing Mr. St. John Allerdyce (Deceased)".
“Death is just nature's way of saying 'Hey! You're not alive anymore'.”
---Bull Shannon
You Only Live Once
I guess some people think I know a lot about death. Not really; I just know what I've experienced. Maybe that's enough. Assuming you haven't forgotten me, you may remember my wacky misadventures last October 31st, when I had my one day a year to visit the living on Earth. As usual, nobody noticed…except for Eileen. My girl. The one I let get away, until it was too late. Or perhaps it's not too late after all, inasmuch as a dead guy can say that with a straight face.
I've been waiting impatiently all year for my next chance to see her. I'll go check on the others too, to see if they've turned their lives around yet, but none of them are as important as Eileen. I'm praying I can find her, and that she'll notice me again, and that she'll want to have hot dirty sex, even though ghosts are completely incapable of it (if the afterlife had a suggestion box, I'd be sure to complain about it regularly) …that Patrick Swayze movie wasn't a friggin' documentary, you know. But honestly, all I really want is to be acknowledged and remembered, and to tell her I love her. She saw me last year, which makes her totally unique – as you may recall, usually only believers in Samhain can see the dead – but tossed me back before we could talk. I want to rectify that.
It's 12:01 AM on October 31st (New Zealand Standard Time, natch), which means dead souls are swarming out of the gates like termites over a rotting gum tree. Mmm, almost makes me hungry…though I'm sure you've figured out by now that ghosts don't eat. I miss it, actually. I'd go nuts with jealousy if I had to watch the living eating all the time. Most ghosts don't really have anything to do in New Zealand (who does?), but it's their one chance to get out into the world; I actually get to go home. Once Samhain starts in Sydney, an hour later, I nip over and hang out at Casa Allerdyce for a while. It turns out to be as depressing and boring as usual, and I end up wandering the house like in a bad horror film until enough time's passed to let me go somewhere else in the world.
You know how people who've had an amputation often complain about 'phantom limb pain'? Well, I don't have a heart in my chest anymore, but it's amazing how much it feels like something's pounding in there. Thank God I don't have a bladder, either. I almost want to turn and run as I stand near Eileen's front door, but of course I'd be kicking myself all year if I wussed out. This past year went agonizingly slowly as it was, spent waiting and wondering if she'd ever acknowledge me upon my return. She doesn't have to. I'd bet life would be a lot simpler for her if she pretended she never saw a damned thing last year.
But please, luv, I exist and it would mean the world to me if you don't throw me out on my arse…
Taking a deep breath would make me feel better, but obviously that's not an option. So I just walk through the door with no fanfare. The place is quiet, but it's not like I was expecting a mariachi band. The opened mail resting on the floor is addressed to 'Dr. E. Harsaw', the formality of which makes me laugh for some reason.
“Ah…Eileen--? Are you home?”
The answer comes in the form of wracking, familiar pain --- the sensation of being torn apart. Nobody could forget how this feels.
“Please, luv, can't we skip this part?”
By the time she walks into the room, looking dead serious (har har), she's got me on my hands and knees from the agony. The atmosphere seems to quiver, and then my surroundings snap into focus again…just like they did last year, right when she saw me and I could speak to her. And like then, she looks properly surprised now.
“What the hell are you doing? Who are you?” she demands, with a scowl that could make Magneto shrink back. Ah, that's my girl.
“If-if you wanted me on my knees, `Leen, you could have just asked.” Well, so much for a romantic opener to sweep her off her feet. Raven always did say my mouth was too smart for its own good. Eileen just looks shocked, and somewhat skeptical.
“St. John…? Is it really you? I thought you were, uh…dead.”
“Guilty as charged. On both accounts.”
She looks scared, and I feel bad.
“I'm not here to hurt you, nor is this some dark omen of horrible things to come. And I'll be out of your house by the end of the day, honest. I just wanted to say hello…I miss you.”
“Am I hallucinating?” she asks tentatively, then shakes her head. “Not that a hallucination could realistically answer that.”
“I'm not a figment of your imagination. My consciousness still exists on another plane of reality, just like all the dead. I'm me…more or less, anyway.”
“You're an energy distortion, a flux in the electro-magnetic spectrum. But I remember seeing you last Halloween,” Eileen replies, the connection dawning on her.
“Yeah. They let us out just this one day a year. And I wanted to see you, especially since you saw me last year. You're the first person who's ever seen me, you know. I always knew you were special.”
I flash my most earnest grin, and despite the lingering fear on her face, she starts to laugh.
“Are you flirting with me, St. John?”
“Maybe. Ghosts recognize quality when we see it.”
“I must be dreaming,” she declares, looking around us for evidence of that, and I shrug.
“I'll be here all day ---if you don't kick me out--- so unless you're having a very long dream, I guess you'll see that I'm real.”
She doesn't look convinced, so I look her in the eye and smile at her.
“Could a dream tell you he loves you?”
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because suddenly the air shimmers, and she's hurting me again. Through my own wave of pain, I notice that she's in tears. I try to ask her what's wrong, but no words come out. It's another half-minute before she composes herself slightly and brings both our worlds back into focus, and that's when I realize she's what allows me to communicate. It's her manipulation of…some type of force…that lets me be more than a silent shade. And I didn't mean to make her cry.
“I'm sorry,” I say guiltily, “what did I say wrong?”
“Nothing. You did nothing wrong. But I used to have dreams about you --- dreams that made me realize I did you a disservice by leaving you, back when you were…ill.”
Hmm. There's not much I can say about that. I didn't like it when she left, either. But I'd be lying if I claimed I hadn't been a miserable son of a bitch when I got sick, bitter at the whole damn world for my misfortune. I pushed a lot of people away, her included, and that's the way I'd preferred it.
“…It's in the past, luv. We both messed up. So I guess that's why I wanted to come back: to tell you I'm sorry, and that I miss you, and that I still love you. It doesn't matter anymore, since I'm deader than disco, but it's good to get it out, right?”
“You're awfully cheerful, considering…” she trails off, and looks kind of sad.
“Y'know Eileen, I miss you and Dom and maybe a few others like crazy, but this beats a slow lingering death from Legacy. That was agony. The afterlife is a piece of cake. A lot of us are kind of relieved when our suffering's over and we find out what the other side is like. It's boring…but it's peaceful.”
“What is it like?” she asks curiously, and I can see the physicist in her step in. I'm surprised she's not actually taking notes!
“Well, things are kind of different on the other side. Here I look like…me. Over there, we're more conceptual.”
“How?”
“Like a little ball of energy or something. Billions of spheres of energy, can you imagine it?”
“No…not really. But it sounds interesting.”
“It's dull as hell. Uh, let me re-phrase that…it's just really friggin' dull. I like coming back here; I get my old form back for a day, can visit the living, and see how the world's changed. I still don't get the appeal of reality television, though.”
“You haven't changed,” she smiles, shaking her head. “But can you talk or interact with others when you're energy over there?”
“Oh, sure. Only problem is, we run out of things to talk about. Eternity's a long time.”
“I'm sure you're never at a loss for words, St. John,” she teases with a smirk, and shit, do I ever want to kiss her. I was an idiot to let her get away, a mistake I wouldn't make again if I was alive. And y'know, for the first time since I died, I really regret being dead.
“Eileen, I swear that if I wasn't corporeally-challenged, I'd ask you to marry me.”
She just looks uncomfortable, which is never a good sign. “Well.”
“Well what?”
“You shouldn't say that…I didn't know you really felt that way,” she says hesitantly, her face unsure. “There's someone in my life, and we've been getting serious lately…”
I could choke. But I don't, of course.
“Oh, congratulations.”
I have to be happy for her. What else can I offer? A rotted corpse and a once-a-year visit from Casper's delinquent cousin--? It's good that she's enjoying her life, and isn't alone, that's what the living are supposed to do. But why does it have to hurt so much? Why did I have to get sick and die?
“I hope you aren't too upset,” she says gently. “I thought you were dead and gone, and I thought we were through. It seemed time to move on.”
“You were right, Eileen. I want you to be happy.”
And I'm not lying. I do want that. I'd probably be puking my guts out now if I had a stomach, but I really do want the best for her. It's the best legacy ---ha ha--- the dead can leave for the living.
“But we can still talk, if you want to,” she says, smiling. “I missed you too. It's great to know you still exist in some form, and I'm glad I'll see everybody again when I die.”
I make a half-hearted grunting sound, remembering how awkward it was to meet up with the people I'd killed. There weren't many…and most of them deserved it; yeah, I'm looking at you, Post…but I've had to make my penance. Meeting up there with old acquaintances ain't all sunshine and roses.
“Have you spoken with Dominic or Fred?” Eileen asks, and I shake my head.
“No, people can't see us unless they believe that the dead return at Samhain. Or unless they can manipulate electro-magnetic distortions, apparently.”
She blushes, and I can't resist winking at her. She's just so damn cute when she does it.
“What if I tell them? They might never believe it, but at least they'll know.”
“That would mean a lot to me, luv; thank you.”
“Isn't it the least I can do for you?” she asks with a gentle smile, looking at me with an expression of…concern, I think.
“You've already done everything I wished for, Eileen. I just wanted to talk to you, and hoped you'd listen. I'm happy now --- really.”
“It was just unfinished business, is that it?”
“Pretty much. I don't need a lot anymore. And, uh, listen: since you've moved on with things, I won't bother you in the future. I never meant to dredge up bad memories or make you uncomfortable with my dead guy ravings, sweetheart. I'm sorry.”
She reaches out a hand to touch my shoulder, which naturally goes right through it (Mystique used to say I was “solidly dependable” to her, but apparently I'm no longer “dependably solid”; and yes, I did spend a while thinking that one up).
“St. John,” Eileen declares, sporting that firm stare she used to reserve for kids and Toad, “don't think that way. You're welcome to visit any year you feel like it. I'll be glad to see you.”
I swear I'd start bawling if I could. Probably look like I'm going to anyway.
“Thank you, luv, I'll look forward to it. But I know you; you're doing it out of pity, or maybe because you can't live without seeing my fine arse.”
“Maybe both,” she says coyly, a faux-coquettish grin on her face.
Damn, I love that woman.
Fin
“Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.”
---George Bernard Shaw
"For certain is death for the born and certain is birth for the dead; therefore over the inevitable thou should not grieve."
---Bhagavad Gita (2:27)
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