This is Your Afterlife Read Online Free PDF Page B

through him. “Um, we don’t know each other well. But if there’s anything I can do to help with the search...”
    The two-way radio chirps again. “There is something. Put your mom’s mind at rest and go home. I’ll give you a ride.”
    Nodding faintly, I tell Charlie, “Thanks, but Mom’s at work. I’ll keep walking. It’ll clear my head.”
    He gives another one of those long, analytical looks. Finally, he says, “Don’t let me catch you wandering around aimlessly again,” and rolls on down the road.
    Without warning, Jimmy staggers like he’s been punched in the gut. “Ughhh!”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I ask, alarmed by the spasms visibly rocketing through his body. This is a person who can walk in a straight line after being slammed by a row of ferocious linebackers.
    His face contorts and takes moments to recover. “That splitting headache is back.”
    A split head is what he’s got. Jimmy convulses, and that sends warning bells clanging inside me. The shimmering aura around him contracts and expands. It pulses in shades of red and purple. Intense, furious colors. They make
my
head ache, like someone’s taken a mallet to my skull.
    â€œLet’s just go back to my house,” I say, trying to sound reassuring, even though I’m completely freaked out by what’s happening to Jimmy. And me. I’m feeling some kind of sympathetic pain to a lesser degree.
    There must be something I could do for him. I can’t give him a little white pill, but there was something else I could try. The imaginary bubble. It always has a calming effect on me. Maybe it’d work just as well on Jimmy.
    Concentrating hard, I visualize an orb of brilliant white light. I picture it getting bigger and bigger until it surrounds us both, all the while taking in deep shuddering breaths. Eventually, my headache subsides, and those violent colors vanish into the darkness.
    I glance at Jimmy. He seems disoriented again, as if he’d just stepped out of a tornado.
    â€œYeah, yeah. Your house. That’s a good idea,” he says.
    Back home, he asks for aspirin. So much for my trick of white light. I remind him gently he’s beyond medicine now.
    â€œIf I’m really dead, I shouldn’t have a headache, right? Why is this happening?”
    â€œI wish I could give you an answer. I’m new to the other side of death, too. It could be mind over matter.”
    â€œYou mean I’m imagining this torture?” He leans forward in my desk chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.
    â€œDying is a big adjustment, not just emotionally. Your mind is hanging on to old habits and it’s going to take a while to get used to being disconnected from your body.” The words come to me from out of nowhere. This philosophy certainly never crossed my mind before. I almost sound wise, like Grandie. Is it possible she’s guiding me?
    â€œThat’s pretty deep,” Jimmy says, staring into space.
    â€œYeah.” I watch for signs of the headache’s return, but none appear. The clock on my bedside table says it’s two A.M. My body reacts accordingly by slumping onto the bed. “Do you think you’ll be okay by yourself while I sleep?”
    â€œI might feel better if I lie down next to you.”
    My heart jolts at the thought of Jimmy sleeping in
my
bed. Even in ghost form. I open one eye and then the other. The smirk on his face says it all. Death and a killer headache haven’t dented his sense of humor.
    â€œCorrect me if I’m wrong, but ghosts don’t sleep,” I retort.
    All traces of mischief vanish from his expression. It’s clear he’s still coming to terms with the practicalities of death. I throw him a sympathetic smile, which he ignores, before flipping the light off.
    After a while, the desk chair creaks softly as he shifts from position to position. Despairing sighs