Alive and Kicking (A Story In Two Parts)

 Part 1

Gina's first memory of her life after her death was of being very, very cold. Of course, she didn't know she was dead. Or, really, alive after being dead. Actually, she was dead in more of a metaphysical sense. It's all semantics. Gina's second memory was the sound of Barry Manilow singing about writing the songs that make the whole world sing. That's how she knew she was really dead. Hell is Barry Manilow.

Gina's head throbbed. She figured that was par for the course, if she'd been dead. But it didn't explain the cold. Hell, if that's where she was, should be hot. She realized she was laying flat on her back. She decided to open her eyes and have a look around. This was a mistake, since she quickly realized she wasn't in Hell. Not exactly. She was in a dimly lit room, on a metal table. So. Serial killer. Not an improvement, she thought.

Risking another glance around she saw that she was alone, so she decided to test her hands and feet. She found them unbound but very cold, and a little bit numb. Barry Manilow had transitioned to Neil Diamond. Also not an improvement.

Gina was still wearing her shoes. This was good. Her shirt had been unbuttoned, so she sat up and fixed that, doing a cursory examination of her limbs for signs of...she wasn't sure what, but she figured she'd know it if she saw it. Her chest hurt a little, almost like she'd been punched in the solar plexus, her throat was sore and her head was pounding, but other than being chilled to the bone, she was in one piece.

She heard a noise, past a door on the other side of the room. A voice. It was muffled, so she couldn't figure out what was being said. Probably a good time to leave. A little bit up on the wall over her head was a half-open window just big enough she figured she could squeeze through, the chilly autumn air making her shiver even more. The voice behind her had gotten a little louder, receding again once she'd climbed outside, scrabbling to pull herself outside.

She took off at a run, panic and adrenaline making her move. Her feet thudding loudly on the pavement of a long driveway, Gina turned and found herself looking back at the sprawling Victorian house that was Gallagher and Son's Funeral Services, looming in the darkness. Lights glowed n the basement windows.

She wondered what time it was. It had been early when she get to Kyle's house that night, and she'd lost track of time during the party. People showed up and people left. The music was loud. She remembers the last beer, pushed on her by Kyle's friend Tommy, and that was it. Then this.

Gina frowned. A funeral home. It made no sense. Except that it did, because she'd been dead. But she wasn't. Whatever, Gina decided, because she was suddenly more hungry than she could ever remember being, and definitely in need of an aspirin and a shower. If she was dead, nothing much mattered, but if she wasn't...maybe nothing mattered, then, either, except being alive.

It took twenty minutes to walk to the other side of town, although it felt like an eternity to Gina. She was cold and her shoes and jeans were damp from walking in the dewey grass when she took a shortcut through the park. The stars were fading in the sky by the time she got to the only diner in town that was open that early in the morning.

Listening to the sound of her stomach growl from the bacon smells wafting from the diner's vents, she used the payphone outside to make a call. Gina was the only person she knew who didn't have a cell phone. It could be really inconvenient sometimes.

Angie Tucci answered on the first ring with a sleepy hello. 

"Ange." Gina wasn't sure what to say, now that she'd called. "Hey, you know I'm dead?"

There was a pause before Angie replied. In the background Gina could hear the groan of springs as her best friend since third grade rolled over in bed. "No shit. Well, that explains the cops and your mom calling my house crying and shit. I mean, they're making funeral plans. My mom's gonna make me wear a dress."

Angie Tucci was morally opposed to dresses. Gina smiled, in spite of her crappy mood and her headache. "I'm sorry I'm gonna miss that. What the hell happened to me? Did they tell you?"

Angie exhaled, loudly. "You OD'd. Like, accidentally."

"No." Gina shook her head at the phone receiver. "I was drinking beer. I didn't take anything."

"Well, I hate to break it to ya," Angie yawned loudly into Gina's ear over the phone "But you did. I was there. You died. The paramedics said you were dead. No pulse or anything. They used those fibrillating things, even. Everybody freaked the hell out. Kyle's parents are beyond pissed. Kyle thinks you're going to haunt his house. He wants a...it's that thing where they contact ghosts?"

"Séance. Look, I need you to do something for me..."

It took several minutes for Gina to explain what she needed. By the time the sun was fully up, she had a plan, and she had an accomplice.