Excerpt: Killing Damien McCafferty =====(working title not decided upon)

The Elder was a short fat Indian chief named Joe- yeah Joe he tells me, I know- whose wrinkly face brought yoda to mind, well minus the green thing. I stared at him in disbelief and wondered whether or not he knew how funny it was that he called himself The Elder, or Joe for that matter. Neither was very suiting to the round little ball of wrinkles that sat in front of me with his old fashioned Indian get-up on. Well, you couldn’t exactly choose the clothes you were murdered in, now could you? I certainly hadn’t chosen to have murder attempted upon me in sweat pants.
“You are dead,” were the first words he said, as Cristobal and I entered his teepee, after which he promptly resumed watching the gilmore girls on a small television that was sitting on his dirt floor. “Ha ha ha, Rory you crack me up!” He exclaimed slapping his knee excitedly.
“That is just so wrong.”
Cristobal looked at me darkly as if to say “Show some respect,” but, really, I couldn’t take him too seriously. “Elder,” he bowed, “I have come requesting your guidance.”
“I already told her. What else I can do?”
“Oh,” I muttered, realizing that chiefy thought I was some recalcitrant new girl who didn’t want to get it.
“This one is different.”
“Yeah, I’m different,” I added, earning another dark look from Cristobal.
“She’s still alive.”
“Still alive you say?” The chief shut off his television and I marveled that only the dire universal chaos of my current situation could pry him away from his favorite mother daughter pair. The “Elder,” oh wisest ghost of ghosts didn’t have a minute to help out the new girl. Management in the afterlife certainly left something to be desired, I mused.
“She wants to get in touch with her family.”
“No,” the elder shook his head, causing his jowls to jiggle, and I tried to hold back a cackle, managing, artfully, to hide it with a long cough before registering what he had said and falling into angry silence. “No, she must not. No hauntings.”
“I don’t want to haunt them. I want to tell them who killed me. They think I fucking committed suicide,” I yelled angrily, inciting a few birds to screech outside the teepee.
“You murdered?”
“Yes, I murdered you dumbass. Is there someone who speaks English that I can talk to?” My face was getting a little red, and if I wasn’t mistaken the air in the tent had risen by a few degrees. “I mean I die or whatever and all I get is you guys. Seems like the big guy upstairs is slacking on his duties a bit.” I wished that I’d had a service bell at hand to ring for effect, but alas, I made due with my venom.
Cristobal crawled (there wasn’t much room in the tent) over to the chief and leaned in to hear what he had to say so that I could not, because they had some direct mouth to ear communication going on, and I couldn’t make out their whispers.
“Hello, still in here guys. Wanna, ya know, tell me what the fuck you’re talking about?”
“You must help her,” the chief finally commanded.
“How do I do this sir?” asked Cristobal sycophantically.
“Teach her about moving…,” he paused searching for the word and settled for patting the ground in a gesture which I interpreted to mean that he was very pissed off about missing his tv show, but which apparently meant that I was going to get my whish, because Cristobal bowed his head and led me outside the teepee.
“I’m going to teach you how to move things as I do, but I cannot teach you these things if you plan to use them.”
“What?” I stopped following him abruptly and shook his hand away. “Get off me. I’m not allowed to use them once you teach me? Fuck that.”
Cristobal let go of me and recovered to a rigidly upright posture. “Fine. Then I will not teach you. It is fine by me.”
“Why did he tell you to teach me if I can’t use it anyway?” I asked.
“He thinks that it may help you to get back into your body where you can tell your family what happened to you, but, I understand. My help is not wanted here.”
As he turned to walk away, I ran after him. “Wait, wait. Your help is wanted here. I want you… or want help. Hey! Come back!”
“No, no I understand. You do not need me. Good day Jennifer. May we meet again some time.” But he didn’t mean it. I could tell that he was glad to be rid of me. I was a charge that he didn’t need to take care of any longer, just another dead girl.
“I’ll follow you home!” I shouted, futilely.
He didn’t respond this time, just continued to walk across the grassy field, and I, true to my word, followed him all the way back to the hospital. Sad thing, to have to call that place home.