Tim moved closer to the embalming table, but hesitated when Aanders turned in withdrawal. “Please don't leave.” He reached for his friend. “Please stay with me."
Unable to grasp the situation, Aanders blurted, “This can't be real. You can't be talking to me if you're dead.” He squinted to bring the image into focus. “Are you dead or not?” The last word rose to a high pitch as Aanders saw Tim step closer.
"Yes,” Tim cried dropping to his knees. The twelve-year-old rocked in place, sobs pulsing through his body. “I'm dead and I didn't go through the light with Mom and Dad."
"What?” Aanders bent down to look under the table toward Tim.
"I'm dead. I died in the car with Mom and Dad. We were murdered."
"Murdered? You weren't murdered. It was an accident.” Aanders pointed toward the heavy steel door. “Your mom and dad are over there in cold storage. But what do you mean you didn't go through the light?"
"I was held back.” Tim hugged his arms to his chest and looked up at his friend. “I need to find a way to go back through the light so I can be with Mom and Dad."
Aanders looked back at his friend's body on the embalming table and then at Tim crouched on the floor. “This can't be real. Wait till I tell Mom."
Sniffling, Tim scooted over to the wall. “You're not going to believe any of this, but boy do I have a lot to tell you. It's just like one of them scary movies."
Aanders backed away from Tim.
"Don't be afraid,” Tim said. “Even though I'm dead, I'm still your best friend. Nothing bad will happen if you still like me."
Scowling, Aanders drew closer to Tim. He made sure he left a four-foot span between them.
Tim held his arm out. “Touch me."
"No way.” Aanders leaned away from the outstretched hand. “I'm not going to touch a dead person who's talking to me."
"Why not? It's no different than those bodies your mom prepped last week. It'll feel just like that.” Tim lunged forward and placed his hand on Aanders bare arm.
Aanders jerked his arm away. “Don't do that. Your hand's as cold as snow.” Looking from Tim to the body on the embalming table, he said, “Quit scaring me.” Aanders squared his shoulders. “I don't have to stay here and be your friend if I don't want to. I might take Belly upstairs and watch TV."
"Please don't go,” Tim said. “I wanted you to touch me so you'd believe what I have to tell you."
Aanders appeared to look straight ahead into the darkness, but scrutinized his friend's every move out of the corner of his eye. He slowly unfolded his fists and inched his fingers across the span. He stopped when his finger butted up against Tim's hand. Mustering the courage to continue, he placed his hand on top of Tim's hand. “Wow. You feel just like that old man that got his leg caught under the mower and died in his yard. Remember that?” Aanders rubbed his index finger on the back of Tim's arm. “Mom says a dead person's skin is clammy. You're clammy, all right."
Tim felt Aanders’ arm and then his own. “You're right. I am."
Aanders settled back against the wall, this time closer to his friend. “I guess that means you're dead."
"I already told you that.” Tim watched Belly plop down between them and roll onto his side with a muffled grunt. He kneaded his fingers through Belly's coarse hair as he drifted off in thought.
Aanders hugged his knees to his chest and took advantage of the reprieve to contemplate this new revelation.
"The stuff I'm going to tell you will freak you out.” Tim rose to his knees and faced his friend. “It's freaky that I'm dead and at the same time I'm talking to you. But what's freakier is you can see me. You don't realize what that means.” Bouncing on his knees toward his friend, Tim added, “Man, are you in for a shock."
"You already said that. Nothing can shock more than a dead person talking to me. So what's the big deal?"
"Don't you think it's weird you're talking to a dead person?"
"Yaaahhh.” Aanders rolled his eyes. Tim was his best friend, but he had a way of going on and on without ever getting to the point. “It's weird all right.” His gaze shot toward his friend as he gasped, “Don't tell me I'm dead, too!"
"I never thought of that,” Tim said. He took Aanders hand and ran his fingers over it. “Nope. You're not dead. Your hand is warm."
Belly snorted to remind the boys he was in attendance. He rolled onto his back. His left leg twitched as he wriggled back and forth, trying to find a comfortable spot on the tile floor.
Aanders pulled the dog near and rubbed his cheek over Belly's head. “You were trying to tell me he was down here, weren't you?” Tears brimmed in Aanders’ eyes as he looked at his friend. “What am I supposed to do now?"
"Because I'm a crosser or because you're a death coach?"
"Because you're my friend and now you're dead. Who am I going to do things with? I don't want a new best friend. I want you to be my friend."
Tim and Aanders had become fast friends when they sat next to one another in kindergarten. Tim's Mom had been supportive of the friendship and encouraged Tim to include Aanders in their family outings after Aanders’ father had abandoned his responsibilities. Other mothers had not been as supportive. They discouraged their sons from forming a relationship with the son of a mortician. Their whispered reasons included the mortuary being an improper place to entertain friends, or the fact that it was unnatural for a woman to ask her son to help with funeral preparations. Aanders childhood inched along a steep incline.
Tim leaned his head against the wall and looked at Aanders. “That probably won't matter once you hear what death coaches do."
"You keep saying that. What's a death coach?"
Aanders scowled as Tim finished explaining what he had learned during Sadie's round table sessions. “How do you know all this stuff?"
"I told you. I learned it from Sadie. She explains it after we come back."
"Come back from where?"
"The nursing home or the hospital. She takes us there in the morning and picks us up before supper. We're supposed to seek out the dying so we can cross back over with them. But first we have to make a death decision."
"You believed her?” Aanders said. “Everyone knows she's crazy. At least that's what they say.” He paused. “Everyone except Mom. She thinks Sadie's a nice old lady."
"I knew you wouldn't believe me.” Tim hugged his knees and rested his chin on one knee. “It's so freaky I didn't believe it at first, either. If you come to Cabin 14, you'll see all the crossers. There are five of us living there."
"Five dead people?” Aanders said with a gasp.
"Yes. There's a man in a suit who has a briefcase he won't let anyone touch. And there's a mom and a boy there too. The mom sits and cries all the time. She gets on everyone's nerves."
"What about the fifth dead person,” Aanders said.
"That's Rodney. He's mean. I'm afraid of him, but I don't think the guy in the suit is. The guy in the suit talks funny."
"Like how?"
"I don't know how to explain it. He sounds kinda like the President when he's talking about important stuff on TV. You know. He uses big words."
"Does Rodney punch the other dead people?"
"Sadie won't let him,” Tim answered.
Aanders struggled to grasp the information Tim had shared. “Can Mom see the crossers?"
"No. She's not a death coach. Sadie told us only death coaches can see crossers."
"That makes Sadie a babysitter for dead people.” Aanders watched Belly paw at Tim to get his attention. “But Belly can see you. Is he a death coach?"
"There's so much to remember, I forgot to tell you about Belly.” Tim picked at the four black hairs on Belly's tail. “Animals and death coaches can see the dead."