Dead Girl Walking Read Online Free PDF

wanted.
    I was hugging the letter, poised to rush into the house and tell my parents the good news, when I heard an engine roar, the screech of wheels, and a scream.
    Then Sheila’s brand new mail-mobile, which was careening out of control in reverse, ran right into me.
    And I died.

Golden light shone so brightly my eyes should have hurt, yet they didn’t. Nothing hurt.
    I didn’t even itch!
    Surrounded by the dazzling clouds of light, I felt incredible, amazing joy. I wasn’t anywhere in particular, yet I was somehow everywhere, which made no sense at all.
    Dreaming. Yeah, that had to be it. Floating, flying, sweet dreams soaring. There was music, too, an orchestra of crystal-pure angelic music. And when the clouds cleared, a woman glided toward me with arms outstretched, smiling wide. A smile I loved dearly and had never expected to see again. Not on Earth, anyway.
    Could that mean I was … ?
    “Not quite,” Grammy Greta told me, squeezing my hands and peering deep into my heart. Strangely, she had no wrinkles and her hair was dark brown, not silvery gray. She wore beige slacks and a striped shirt with a cat embroidered on the pocket. Not the starchy yellow cotton dress I’d seen her wearing at her funeral.
    Funeral … buried in the ground … over a year ago.
    I blinked at Grammy, then looked down at myself, searching for some clue to what was going on. I was still me, in ripped jeans and Dustin’s baggy shirt that barely covered my nettle bumps and reddened scratches. I ran a finger along an old scar on my right thumb, where I’d been snagged by a hook on my first (and last) fishing trip with Dad. The scar felt real and so did I—yet how could that be?
    “Am I dreaming?” I lifted my gaze from my hands to Grammy’s beaming face.
    “Dreams and reality are elementally the same.”
    “I don’t get it … but it doesn’t matter. If this is a dream, it’s a great one and I’m in no hurry to wake up. Oh, Grammy, I’ve missed you so much!”
    “I’ve missed you, too.” When she squeezed my hands she felt real and alive and wonderful.
    “How is this possible?” I asked, marveling at the misty ground swirling around my very ordinary sneakers, scents of mountain and ocean breezes, and the amazing woman standing in front of me. “I can’t believe we’re together. I never thought I’d see you again.”
    “But I’ve never been far away, and I see you all the time. Remember the card you received on your birthday with no signature?”
    “Sure. The cute black dog on the front looked exactly like Cola. I tacked it on my bulletin board. I couldn’t figure out who sent …” I stared at her widening smile. “You?”
    “I was only the messenger.” She nodded. “It was his idea.”
    “His? You mean … Cola?”
    There was a sharp bark as a furry black dog sprang out of nothingness with the bouncing energy of a puppy. He scampered over to me, red tongue lapping and his black whip-like tail wagging.
    If being with Grammy Greta was a shock, seeing my favorite (dead!) dog was absolutely mind-boggling. Until now I’d thought it was a dream, but dreams didn’t come with doggy breath and barking. Cola looked so healthy! When he’d died at the old age of nineteen, he’d been blind and lame. Now his black eyes shone with lively mischief. His tongue tickled my face when he slurped a doggy kiss.
    “Cola!” I wrapped my arms around his soft warm neck. When I brushed against his luminous gold collar, sparks sizzled like an electric halo. Vivid images circled around Cola’s neck as if my touch had pushed a remote control button and switched on a holographic TV. The cinematic collar reeled with pictures and garbled sounds. I tried to focus on the images but it was all a blur. Then abruptly the spinning stopped. The collar stilled to a plain gold band.
    “What kind of collar is that?” I jumped back, the buoyant ground swishing cloudy puffs around my ankles.
    “It’s not a collar. Cola’s Duty Director