Advocate For The Dead

Advocate For The Dead

         The dead girl stood in my office. You would think I'd be used to such things by now, but thankfully she wasn't too frightening a corpse. Though the dirt of the grave still clung to her white dress, she looked pretty as a picture, a postcard of youth and innocence. But I knew she was no longer innocent, even if she didn't think so, other wise she wouldn't be here facing me with that question in her eyes. I think the question was more of bewilderment.

         "You can see me?" she asked curiously.

         "Yes miss, I can see you, please sit down."

         I offered her a chair and my card. She couldn't actually hold the card so I set it on the edge of my desk in front of her. She glanced at it.

         "Cole Winter, Advocate & Investigations," she read aloud. Her voice was soft and lilting, almost a whisper. She laughed slightly. "That's funny."

         I raised an eyebrow.

         "Your name is Winter. And I'm Summer."

         I smiled. I hoped she would see it as genuine. "Well, Miss Summer, what can I do for you?"

         "To be honest, Mr. Winter, I don't know why I'm here. I guess I just need your help."
I nodded. That's the way it always with these folks.

         She cleared her throat, though she didn't really have a real one anymore. She nervously put her hand to her hair and seemed surprised that there was dirt clinging to it.

         "I want to know what happened," she finally said. She looked back at my office door. "I'm afraid I don't have any money to pay you, but my parents do. I'm sure they would agree to any of your fees if you explain it to them."

         "We won't worry about that just yet. First I need your full name." I got out a pen to jot down the details in my notebook.

         "It's Summer Lynn.." she hesitated. "Oh my, I can't remember my last name."

         She seemed distraught at this, as her face wrinkled up trying to remember the particulars of who she was.

         "It's okay miss. It happens all the time," I told her.

         "Really?" She found this hard to believe.

         "Yes, it's hard sometimes for a victim to remember details of their life when they've been through a severely traumatic event."

         She frowned. "And I've been through one of those?"

         "Yes you have. You wouldn't be talking to me otherwise."

         "What happened to me?"

         I looked nervously to my lap and then back up into her pale blue eyes. I could see the wall behind her, but her eyes kept pulling me back to her pretty girlish face. I wanted to tell her the truth, but this was always the hardest part for me, telling the client how hopeless their situation was. It was something I struggled with and I think she saw it in my face for she saved me from the awkwardness.

         "I'm dead, aren't I?"

         I smiled sadly and nodded. "Yes miss, I'm afraid so."

         This time it was her turn to nod. "It wasn't pleasant? My passing?"

         "Doubtful", I spoke quietly.

         She reached her hand up to wipe away her tears. I could see them glistening in her eyes and starting to run down her cheek. She caught a tear on her finger and seemed to study it. Finally she looked at me.

         "How can I still feel things?" she asked, showing me the dampness on her finger.

         I straightened up. "Sometimes it's hard to let go of the things we have lived with. Your tears, though in reality aren't there, but to you they still have substance because you aren't quite ready to let go of the physical world."

         "And you can help me let go?"

         "No, I'm afraid that's not where my expertise lies. You'll have to find a way to let go yourself."

         She seemed disappointed and so I pushed on, trying to encourage her.

         "Sometimes," I said, "once you realize your situation, that is enough to help you let go and continue on to where you are supposed to go."

         "Where am I supposed to go?"

         "I don't know. People go to different places, depending. I can't be that kind of judge of character. Again, that's not what I do."

         "Then what do you do Mr. Winter?"

         "I am an advocate for the dead. Basically, I help those like yourself who have unfinished business in their lives. Mostly I just serve as a messenger, relating the wishes of the departed to the living, resolving standing issues, sometimes just saying goodbye. Every now and then I do a little investigating if the situation warrants it. Seeking the truth for those who cannot seek it for themselves. People like you."

         "You mean ghosts?"

         "Yes, if you wish to use that word."

         She seemed to think on something for a minute. "Can you find out what happened to me? Why I died?"

         "Yes, I think I can."

         She smiled. "I would like that."

         "I know", I agreed. "I will do my best."

         I stood up from my chair. Under other circumstances I would have shook her hand, but I knew in this instance there might have been no point. My hand may have just passed right through her. You never can tell about the physical state of the recently deceased.

         A look of sudden puzzlement crossed her face. "What do I do while you are investigating? Should I stay here out of sight?"

         "Not many people would see you anyway, Miss Summer. There's very few of us who can see those who have passed from the material plane. So you can go wherever you want really. The chances of anyone taking notice of you are slim. At the worst, people may feel a disturbance in the air when you get close to them, but that's about it."

         She looked about ready to cry, and I realized in trying to explain things to her that I had caused her anguish. By letting her know just how insignificant she'd become.

         "I'm sorry," I tried to explain, "but for all intents and purposes you are dead and buried. That may sound harsh but I cannot mince words. You are deceased and lost to nearly everyone. That is not to say you are forgotten though. I imagine that there are those out there who really miss you and would love nothing more than to know you are alright now."

         "Alright? But I'm dead." She began to cry. "This is so hard."

         "I know it must be. It may not make things easier for you, but you are more than welcome to come with me." I was already getting my coat and hat off the peg hooks by the door.

         "I don't want to be alone," she confessed.

         I wanted to tell her she already was, but I bit my lip. My job here was to find answers for her, not to dish out further cruelty than she may have already faced. So instead I looked at her with my most compassionate face.

         "I don't like being alone either", I said.

         She sadly smiled. "I won't leave you if you won't leave me."

         "Deal", I said, though I knew one day she would leave. There's no point getting attached to the deceased anymore than you have to.

         She smiled and for a moment I thought she was going to hug me. I didn't want her to do that. I nearly shuddered thinking of it, that feeling of invasion that occurs when the spirit meets the real. It is bad enough, the feeling of longing that hugs can bring, even more so when the person you hug is no longer of this earth.

         "Come on, let's go," I said, before she could act on her impulses. I stepped to the door and she followed behind. I stopped at the threshold however and looked back into the safety of my office. Sometimes just leaving this familiar place fills me with a sense of dread. I went back to my desk and opened the top drawer. There was a glock 9mm in a shoulder holster in there. I picked it up, took off my jacket and strapped it on.

         She seemed taken aback by this. "Is a gun necessary?"

         "Never can tell", I confessed. "Until we know what happened I feel safer with it. If we find out you died of a disease or something, I'll put it up." I put back on my jacket and the weapon was perfectly concealed. You couldn't even tell I had it.

         "So where to first?" Summer asked.

         "What's the last thing you remember?"

         She looked at me and shivered in her dress. "Cold. Earth. Emptiness."

         "Your grave," I said knowingly.

         "Yes."

         She looked so lost and forlorn, I wished I could hold her and tell her it was going to be all right. But it wasn't going to be all right. I couldn't hold her. In fact, no one could. Man, I wished Lacey could be here to help me through this. I chased that thought from my head quick. My ex-wife would show up when she was damn good and ready to.

         "Alright, Miss Summers, let's go find out who you are."

         I stepped out the door and purposely closed it behind me. She passed right through it and followed me. That at least answered one question. Together we went down the street like the lost leading the lost, both seeking the truth, never knowing where it would take us. Sometimes that is best, not knowing what is going to happen. Otherwise I guess we'd all just try to run and stay one step ahead of the shadows. I thought of the task ahead, of immersing myself in this girl's life to forget the tragedy of my own. Sometimes being an advocate for the dead is simply a means for avoiding the living...