Connor's Choice

My name is Connor Masterson; and I have a choice to make. What I decide in the next few hours will alter everything I have ever known regardless of which path I choose. My world will be rocked to the core if not completely brought crashing down around me. The choice is literally mine. But I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? How rude of me. Since you're reading this, it's only fair you know the circumstances surrounding this unique position I've been put in.

I am currently 24 years old and I live in Seattle, Washington. I have brown hair brown eyes and I'm Kevin Costner handsome. (Okay, maybe Kevin Kline) I'm also two weeks comatose as the result of a car crash.

I made a very good living as one of Seattle's up and coming authors of horror and paranormal fiction. Maybe you've heard of my work, High Fright? Dead Ahead? Ghost Roast? No? Nothing? Hmmm. Anyway, my works were bringing in plenty of money for my publisher, which meant she begged me for new drafts at every opportunity. I usually brought in two on her desk within three months tops.

When it came to my work ethic, I would go through a can of coffee like it wasn't even there. The caffeine kept me wired well into 5 a.m. concentrating on how to have a poltergeist tear a philandering husband apart. I usually dealt in the more gruesome vengeance-y aspect of ghost stories. For some reason, revenge had always appealed to me. I didn't know why exactly but I do know that works of literature like Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus and Hamlet were my two favorite plays for their themes of one's violent, decadent retribution against those who have wronged them and their loved ones.

Unfortunately, burning the midnight oil to create otherworldly stories came at a price. My girlfriend of two years, Stacy Hallowell, was not too thrilled with me spending my nights in front of a computer screen. She preferred being out in the city living the club and museum scene. She worked at the Frye Art Museum in the painting restoration department. She also painted original works in her free time. Whenever she could, Stacy sold her paintings at what she considered reasonable price ranges of three thousand to ten thousand dollars a painting. While a few paintings sold (for considerably less than three grand), some people felt and I quote "like she is trying to pass off packaged dog crap as Tootsie Rolls, in a manner of speaking." Comforting her was the reason I put in two manuscripts instead of three, but I loved her and she needed me.

We've lived together for the past year in a pricey but manageable apartment in the Belltown district of Seattle. Our apartment is on the fifth floor so there wasn't much of a view. But since my eyes are glued to my monitor it didn't make a difference. I was considering popping the question to her before the crash.

It was a Wednesday that I would never forget in this or, so help me, any other life. I had just finished pitching a draft for a romantic thriller where a ghost is trying to keep his widow from marrying the best friend who murdered him. She loved it, of course, which meant I was to go home and polish it up for the editors to take a look at.

While walking through a winery outlet at the Stockton St. mall, I was talking on my cell phone with Stacy's best friend, Jack Webster. They'd been friends since college, or at least that's what she told me. He always came over to talk with her about how his job at the accounting firm was taking off. He'd also get in a couple of what he thinks are subtle digs about my career choice. Crunch numbers all you like, a**hole. I create worlds that stimulate the imagination.

It didn't bother me that he was her best friend. He was a gorgeous man, to be sure, with his chiseled jaw line, short jet black hair and an endless supply of Armani suits. But I never was one to be insecure about the women in my life. It didn't bother me that his eyes would linger just a little too long at Stacy's full, beautiful face. I'd pretend I didn't notice, not that he cared if I did or didn't. What bothered me was the fact that he was being obnoxiously secretive about what Stacy was up to that Wednesday afternoon.

At that point, I hadn't seen much of Stacy lately. For the past month, she had been working really late hours at the museum restoring a damaged Rembrandt. I was hoping to be able to take her out to dinner and celebrate my next upcoming novel. Every night she came home, her fiery red hair would be a mess. Bags that looked like they could carry dead human bodies rested above her freckled cheeks and she seemed completely worn out. She looked as though she had spent overtime preparing for a marathon instead of making sure a notable artist's painting was brought back to its original luster.

When I'd ask Stacy how work was, she'd give me a "cat that ate the canary" look. "Fine," she'd say with a stuttered chuckle and a smile. I didn't really understand why she was so shaken by my asking. It wasn't like she was hiding anything from me, right?

After leaving the winery with a fresh bottle of Merlot, I said into the cell, "Jack, have you talked to Stacy today?"

"Yeah," he replied.

There was a pause because I was expecting him to at least let me know what was going on. "Did she tell you where she was? I've been trying to reach her for the past hour. She usually takes her lunch breaks around four o'clock. Its four thirty now."

"I'm her best friend, not her personal GPS," he barked, "You want to find her, call the museum."

"I tried the museum but they said she's on her lunch break. Usually she has her cell phone on while she's on lunch."

"Maybe she wants to get away from all the stress in her life, you know? Just a chance to block things out that might be driving her crazy."

"Well, she always feels better when she talks to me about her work troubles."

"Yeah, when you're not in your own little world on the computer," he muttered.

With a brow arched, I say, "What did you say?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, "Look, Connor, don't worry about it, alright? I'm sure she's just taking a little rest. She needs it after working all those hours at the museum." After he spoke, I heard him exhale a heavy, chuckle-filled sigh.

With a quizzical look on my face due to the pleasure-drenched sound, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry about that, guy. I'm on my way to the massage parlor on Harriman Rd. They don't serve happy endings but I'm looking forward to the once upon a time, if you get my drift."

"How could I not?" I replied, letting out a hefty sigh, "Enjoy your massage and I'll talk to you later. Please tell Stacy to get in touch with me, I really need to talk to her."

"Will do," he said. The line clicked off and I shut my cell, ending the call.

After my talk with Jack, I stopped at the Kay Jewelers next to the movie theatre. I had been saving my money for this very moment. That Wednesday night, I would propose to Stacy with a candlelight dinner that I prepared. With luck, she'd say yes and I can not only marry the woman I love, but tell Jack to go stick it and where to. But first's things were still first.

I was greeted by a familiar and friendly voice. "Hey Connor! How are you?" said Nina. She was a young, cute, plump brunette standing behind the counter. I'd been coming into the shop every Tuesday for the past three months looking for the perfect ring to buy for Stacy. Nina and I had known each other since high school and kept in touch off and on through college. We got back in touch when I ran into her at the food court of the mall her store is a part of.

I played it off, of course because I was still in an exclusive relationship. Nina was the only one in there who didn't act like she was better than everybody else when she sold you jewelry.

"I'm doing alright, Nina," I said through a smile. "I sold my latest manuscript today."

"That's awesome, Connor! Congratulations!" Nina giggled. My God, she looked so cute when she did that. She slightly bent forward and her pearly whites were gleaming against the light in the display case in front of her. But I was here for business and it had to be taken care of.

"So I'll go ahead and buy this one."

"Yes sir," she replied, "One 18 karat gold band with sapphire studs and a 2 inch diamond on top. She'll flip for it."

"I'm hoping for 'Yes, I'll marry you.' But flipping would be understandable,"

I looked at her face and that it was still smiling. But something was off. It was like she was trying in vain to hide something. It wasn't the bubbly, adorable smile I've come to know. I'd like to think that she almost didn't want me to go through with it. Maybe that was just my mind trying to stir drama where it needn't be.

Not too long ago, she had broken up with Ned, her boyfriend of a year. He apparently neglected to mention that he was bisexual. Thus, it undoubtedly came as a shock when Nina found him in the arms and bed of her openly gay brother, Gary.

Both Gary and Ned swore in every direction they could that they had no intention of hurting her. It's so funny how people think saying that is supposed to help. Just because they didn't intend to hurt you, it doesn't really stop them from hurting you. If Ned wasn't intent on having sex with Gary, why else would he be in bed naked with him in a passionate kiss? Needless to say, Nina needed a friend and I, in a cruel twist of fate, happened to be that friend.

She and I would talk about a myriad of things aside from Stacy and my engagement ring choices. Nina discussed the family reunion where her brother came out to her parents; I told her about how I once drank an entire gallon of milk within an hour (but then spent the next thirty seconds heaving on a co-worker's brand new car.) I even treated her to lunch on her break one time.

Stacy knew about Nina but didn't really care. I think she kind of resented her because of her portly stature. They talked briefly on the phone once and that was about the gist of the relationship. A lot less dramatic than you would think but Stacy was good at hiding her feelings and keeping things to herself.

"I'll let you know how it goes, Nina!" I said, closing the box with the ring inside. It was at that point that Nina came from behind the counter and threw her arms around me in a great big hug. I returned it in kind with a smile.

"I hope you'll invite me to the wedding, Connor," she said stepping back.

"Absolutely," I told her with a wink.

We said our goodbyes and I left the store with my fiancé's ring. In the pit of my gut something nagged at me. I don't know if Nina really was happy for me or not. But I tried not to think about it too hard. For some reason, I kept wanting to turn back and talk with her some more, but there was nothing left to say for the time being.

After putting the bottle in the passenger seat floor board of my 1994 vanilla Chevy Corolla, I pulled out of the parking garage and onto Stockton St. My cell phone rang and with the press of a button, I turned on the speakerphone feature. "Hello?"

My darling girlfriend's soft, tender voice chimed in response, "Hey, baby. Jack told me you were trying to get in touch with me. What's the matter?"

Stopping at a red light, I said, "Nothing's wrong, honey. I just wanted to tell you that my new manuscript just got approved! Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, it's great," she said rather unenthusiastically, "Look, uh, Connor---"

"Yes?"

"I'm----"

I didn't get to hear her finish telling me. As I was going through the green light, I felt something plow into the rear of my driver's side, forcing the cell phone to be sandwiched against the glass and my head. The window shattered, raining glass down upon me while my car skidded sideways for what I thought was forever. I felt the car door fold inward, jabbing into my arm and against my rib. I screamed out and my nerves felt like they were on fire. Blood rushed out of my side like a small stream.

I slumped over onto the passenger seat and let whatever sound I could make be known. I felt fire shooting up from my legs and left arm. Car horns wail their incessant screams of protest and horror. In the distance, I thought I heard a man say, "Where are you going?! Hey! Stop that guy!" The sirens were getting close but I could feel the bones in my ribs grinding and the blood still fleeing from my body.

The last thing I remember seeing before I lost consciousness was the ring box on the floor board, laying amidst the broken champagne bottle and spilt wine.

This is where my story really gets interesting.

There's a discussion in the medical field about whether or not people can still hear or feel while they are comatose. A simple tapping of the fingers to a lay person might signify that their loved one is about to re-enter this world. Next, they'd learn to walk again. After that, perhaps they'd take them fly-fishing like they always promised them they would. Those desperate hopes are dashed when the doctor tells the optimistic loved ones that it's simply a reflex action. It's one of nature's cruelest practical jokes.

I had found myself in a hospital waiting room sitting in a group of chairs in the middle of the room. My memory was a little bit hazy but I hadn't felt any residual pain. In fact, I'd never felt better in my life. I was still in the khaki pants, jacket and white dress shirt I wore to pitch my new novel to my publisher. I don't remember how I got here, how much time had passed, or even my recovery from the injuries in the accident.

"Hello, Connor," a gravelly voice called out to me from out of nowhere. Looking to my left, I saw nothing but the window overlooking the illuminating nighttime Seattle skyline. Turning to my right, a stretcher with a heavily bandaged patient was being rolled down the hallway. The poor soul seemed to be stable given that the people didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to get to where they were going.

"Behind you, genius," the voice said, coming from behind me. I stood up from my chair to find the only other person in the room with me. He adjusted a black suit jacket with white undershirt and a red and silver tie. His youthful handsome appearance belied his elderly tone. Standing up, he flattened his black dress pants and took a step toward me.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I said with an unmistakable shiver running down my spine.

"Well, yes and no," he said, looping his walk around the chair island in the middle of the waiting room. He paused to look out at the night sky. "Every city's skyline has its own charm. New York City's probably the most brightly lit and active. Las Vegas' skyline is by far the most flamboyant. And of course, who could ever leave out Paris, the world renowned 'City of Light.' Yes, each city skyline is unique, especially at night."

"Yeah," I remarked, "I'd been to New York once. It was nice."

"Nice is something you say about a small town in Alabama. I'd like to think that New York's skyline at night is rather beautiful. But that's neither here nor there," the young man remarked, drawing in a deep sigh, "My name is Graham. Graham Weaver." He extended his hand with a smile hiding an in-joke that only he was in on.

"When you said, 'yes and no', what did you mean?" I asked pensively while shaking his hand. His grip was tight and warm. Yet I had this expectation that it would be cold and bone-chilling. The more I looked at him, the more I began to wonder what this man did for a living. Was he an undertaker? Was he a CEO for a Fortune 500 company? Or was he just one of those private practice doctors that rake in large quantities of money from rich clients for making them look younger?

Graham replied, "I just meant that I'm a fan of your novels; of all things paranormal and involving death." He kept holding that smile, which seemed to want to be a lot wider than it currently was. I could tell right away this was one of the oddest people I've ever met.

"Connor," he said in a low, solemn tone, "There's something I have to show you. It's kind of a surprise."

Already, the novelist in me began running scenarios through my mind at a mile a minute. Graham led me out of the waiting room and down the hallway. His shiny, beautifully maintained business shoes cludded delicately along the hall the like the less fancy but still nice dress shoes I was wearing.

He turned right into an open door leading into a darkly lit room. I narrowed my eyes to adjust to the stark contrast from the bright hallway. Upon entering, I heard Stacy's voice call out, "Connor." I had turned around to the doorway, thinking she had seen me with this odd gentleman.

The doorway was empty, leaving me to scratch my head. I had begun to think I was losing my mind when I heard Stacy speak once again, "Connor, please...please wake up." I looked back to see my beautiful fire-haired beauty hunched over a patient's bed. I heard sobs coming from her and she took the patient's hand in hers.

I thought maybe she didn't hear me come in. I said, "Baby, I'm right here." She didn't respond. "Sweetheart," I said with a small shout. Once again, she didn't answer. It was like she didn't even know I existed. I walked over to her to see who she was standing over, "Stacy, why won't you answer---"

My jaw almost dislodged itself from dropping so quickly. I didn't believe my eyes would almost pop from their sockets from shock until now. I staggered backwards only to find Graham putting his arm around me and saying, "I'm sorry I had to show you this, Connor. I really am."

I was lying in the bed that Stacy stood next to with her left hand in my right. At the same time I was being held up from collapsing by Graham. I was shirtless with bandages over my ribs, head and stomach and my left arm in a suspended sling. I was also still wearing my khaki jacket and white dress shirt. I was dead to the world, but at the same time, I was absolutely freaking out.

"No, no..." I muttered to myself, "This is im...imposs...imposs..."

"It's very possible, my friend," Graham replied, holding me up by his unusually strong arms.

Tears streamed down my face, my voice cracked and I felt my resolve fleeing from me as I let out a horrified sob, "What is happening to me?!" I wailed.

Graham kept his powerful grip on my arms, holding me up and said, "Snap out of it. You are not dead. Look at the monitor up there." Turning my puffy, reddened eyes toward the heart monitor, I could see he was right. I was, indeed, alive and breathing on my own. The only problem was that I couldn't wake up.

"I'm...I'm..."

Graham released me once he felt I could stand on my own two feet, despite still visibly shaking. "That's you. You've been comatose for the past week. Right now, you're having what is known as an out of body experience. Think of it as your soul taking a vacation from your body."

"How do you know these things? Who are you, really?"

"I told you before, Connor. My name is Graham Weaver."

"Graham Weaver," I whispered. Suddenly, a light clicked on in my head. If this were a novel of mine, I probably would've laughed at the irony. "You're..."

"Yes," he nodded.

I pulled away from him as fast as I could and started backing up toward the door. My hands extended, I said, "S-S-Stay away from me."

"Connor, please,"

"You stay away from me!"

"You don't understand---"

"STAY AWAY!"

"---why I'm here!"

"You're trying to kill me, am I getting warm?"

"No!" he shouted. For a second, I could almost feel heat emanating from eyes. Strangely enough, I heard his rough voice echo when he shouted. Graham took in a deep breath and said, "I am not here to kill you, Connor."

"Isn't that your thing? Angel of Death, personification of the ultimate maggot marathon?"

"Well, that's kind of a crude way to describe what I do, especially for a horror novelist."

"Forgive me, but this is all a little too, uh...unbelievable."

Graham took cautious, patient steps forward. With his hands cupped together, he pointed at me and said, "You might want to step a couple of feet to your left."

"Why?" I said, unaware that Jack Webster was entering the hospital room directly behind me. Within an instant, I felt myself lose shape, and everything went pitch black. I heard Jack's heartbeat as if it were thunder rolling right next to my eardrum. Along with the cacophony of his heart beating, the sound of blood rushing through his veins was disgusting. Within that same instant that seemed to last for hours, I found myself staring at Jack's back as he walked away.

"That is why," Graham said putting his arm around me, "Passing through objects and people is a discomforting experience. I try to avoid it as much as I can. To the living it's like a cold breeze down their back, but to us intangibles, it's like being physically violated."

"Now that you mention it, being in Jack's body does make me feel dirty," I said, with a small laugh. I couldn't believe I was laughing at such a terrible turn of events.

Graham and I had taken a staircase to the roof of the hospital. Stepping through doors wasn't the unbelievably loud and disgusting experience that was passing through that narcissist Jack, but it was no picnic, either. On the way upstairs, Graham explained to me that as an intangible, I maintained a subconscious sense of being. Allowing me to walk up the stairs and stay on floors of multi-story buildings. The reason he was holding me up when I realized that I was really comatose was so that I didn't fall through the floors all the way to the ground.

As we entered the rooftop, Graham took in a deep breath. Which is funny because when do spirits breathe; or cry for that matter? "The beauty of your predicament is that you can hear, see and smell. However you cannot taste or touch or otherwise interact with your environment."

"Why are you really here, Graham?" I asked walking out to the edge of the roof.

Following me, the sharply dressed man said, "I'm here to let you know that this is not the end for you. That you have been given a unique and rare opportunity."

I looked over the edge of the roof to see an eight story drop to the parking lot below. The view was spectacular, with the Seattle sky line and the lights of the city brightly going about their business despite the significance of what was happening to him. The world truly does move on without you, I figured. "Taking over as 'Graham Weaver'?" I replied with a smirk.

Graham laughed and joined me on the edge of the roof and said, "Good Lord, no. As far as my job goes, I have what you call tenure. No, the opportunity is for you to see things that you haven't seen. And to know the truth of things that are hidden from you."

"The truth? About what?" I asked with a shrug.

"The truth about Stacy, about Jack, About Nina, and most importantly, about yourself." Graham said, looking out to the city of Seattle.

I shook my head and ran a hand across my face, saying, "I think I've got a clear view of the truth, here, pal. Jack's a jerk, simple as that. Nina and I are just friends. I love Stacy and she loves me. I was about to ask her to marry me before all of this happened."

Graham put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I know. My boss saw what was ahead of you and didn't like it one bit."

"Boss?" I said with an eyebrow arched, "You mean..."

Nodding, he replied, "There are millions of different places I'd rather be than here, Connor. No offense. But O.O.B's don't happen very often. Due to the randomness and need for availability, I can only be here when you exit, and then to take you back to your body when you have seen what you needed to see."

With panic racking my face like a medieval torture device, I said, "So you're leaving me here to scurry around in limbo until I realize the truth about something? What about my body? What if I don't find out what I need to know for months or years?"

"Trust me," Graham said, putting both hands on my shoulders, "It won't take quite that long to figure things out. See you soon." With that, he turned away and began to walk off the roof edge. He didn't fall one inch, but instead he kept walking along the air.

I knew the truth about Stacy and Jack, though. Or at least I thought I knew the truth. Stacy was the woman who was going to be my wife, and Jack was the smarmy little prick who thinks he is better than me.

After a few more minutes of looking out at the city, I walked back downstairs to my hospital room. Stacy was nowhere to be seen. Jack, however, was right next to my body. A sickening feeling went into the pit of my gut as I entered the room. He stood over the bed with a green polo shirt and blue jeans. His raven-black hair looked disheveled and out of place. It was an uncommon appearance for Jack. I hadn't seen him in that kind of look.

I walked to the other side of my bed to look him in his face. Jack wore a smug grin that gave an illustrated description to the term "sh**-eating grin" I could hear him stifling a laugh under his breath.

"Hey, Connor," he said with his voice still trying to hide his joy, "Something you need to know, man. It's about your accident; or so called accident, to be accurate. You know, I wasn't going to a massage parlor on Harriman Rd. I was actually following you around.

"I followed you into the mall and kept a distance. I saw you going to the wine shop, the candle shop and then the jewelry store. Why couldn't you have been dating that chubby little frump Nina instead of a beautiful vision like Stacy? Nina's more your type, I would think. Average looks, average job, and an average life. I saw the way she looked at you. That's not the look of someone who wants to be your friend. That's the look of someone who wants you wearing her fat ass out in her bedroom."

"I have to admit, I was as surprised as anyone when that car slammed into you. But after the shock, I felt...overjoyed. That wasn't an accident, oh no, Connor. This was fate. This was fate letting you know that Stacy is not meant to be with you. She is not meant for the simple, quiet life of sitting in an apartment with her pathetic, geeky, novelist boyfriend who thinks he is the next Stephen King. No, she is cultured, refined and above you. Like me."

"You son of a bitch," I muttered, "I always knew you were a bastard. But this..."

Jack clutched my lifeless face by its cheeks and said, "Do me, you, and Stacy a favor. Die. Die right now or never wake up. Because Stacy is mine and she has been for a long time. That call you got from Stacy? That was her telling you she is leaving you for me. It was also to let you know that she was moving out and leaving you to handle the rent for your apartment.

"Oh wait, that's right. You can't pay the rent by yourself. You needed Stacy to help you along while you wrote. Silly me, without her there to keep up her end of the rent, you'd be out on the streets. Which is where you belong, pal; in the gutter."

Stacy entered the room as Jack released his grip on my prone face and turned to greet her. He did so by planting a kiss on her mouth. I expected her to instantly shove him off, slap him in the face and kick him in the groin for being such a lecherous friend. What I didn't expect was for her to not only not reject his advances, but embrace them full on. She threw her arms around him and sighed deeply.

My mind jolted me to the instant before the crash. Stacy had said there was something she needed to tell me. I didn't have much time to think about it due to the car plowing into me. But it would've been reasonable at the time to assume that she was going to tell me she was pregnant or that she was getting a promotion at the museum.

I never in a million years would've guessed that it was to tell me that she was in love with that egotistical pig. She would gladly prefer to live in his trough of money and excess instead of the simple life with me. I mean, I heard her sobbing for me earlier, surely that meant that she still cared about me, right?

"I feel kind of bad doing this in front of him," she said, pulling away from Jack.

The tall handsome a**hole said, "Why? I don't."

Stacy chuckled and traced a finger across his lips before putting that same finger in her mouth. "I know you don't. But...he was good to me and he never cheated on me or hit me or anything. I guess I just feel like he's a good man and I don't deserve him."

"Stacy, I don't ever want to hear you say that ever again!" Jack said, gripping her shoulders tightly enough for me to want to leap over the bed and try to tackle him, "He was a scrub writer! They have all kinds of emotional, financial and substance problems. Not to mention the fact that he never did anything good for you either. He didn't get you out of that disgusting little apartment you lived in. Plus, he had no idea that you and I are together and in love. Trust me, Connor didn't deserve you."

"Well, I don't hate him like you do, Jack. And quite frankly you knew how hard this was for me to do. I mean, telling him right after he'd bought me an engagement ring? Ugh, that was such rotten timing."

"Actually, I think the timing couldn't have been better."

"You really are a heartless bastard."

"I'm only heartless when it comes to Connor Masterson. I'm also the only man who can give you the live you deserve. A life where you'd never have to worry about money again and you could go to any restaurant or club in Seattle and live the high life." He said, pulling her in close for another kiss. She didn't stop him.

I felt my gut aching...wanting me to reach out and strangle the both of them. Stacy had ripped my heart out, while Jack took almost fetishistic pleasure in stomping on it. I couldn't stay in that room any longer. I had to run away. I sprinted out of the room and down the hallway. An elevator was open so I ducked inside. Leaning against the wall and sliding down to a squatting position, I began to cry.

I stood in the multi-level parking lot next to the hospital and looked around for a while for Jack's car. I had been hoping to try out a trick I'd seen in a movie once. I think Patrick Swayze was in it. After searching the lot, I found Jack's 2006 silver BMW and passed through the door into the driver's seat. I thought about those two betraying pieces of crap, my ex-girlfriend Stacy and Jack, her new boyfriend. I didn't think I'd ever get used to saying it.

I took all of my rage, all of my hatred for Jack and what he had taken from me and shoved it into my gut. I wanted to hurt him in ways that would make him useless to a woman. I reached out my hand, all of this fire in my belly to touch it and release the parking brake.

My hand phased through. I touched nothing but air. I tried again, my hand passed through again. Again and again, I tried. Again and again, I failed. It seemed like what Graham said about me not affecting anything was right. I thrashed my limbs about wanting to somehow destroy the car in a rage, but to no avail.

After more trying and failing to grip the parking brake, I heard the car's alarm system chirp. Looking around, I found that Jack was walking toward the car. Rather than risk having to have him get in the car and have me enter his body by accident, I ducked into the back seat. I didn't bother keeping quiet since he couldn't sense my presence in any way.

The dark-haired accountant got into his car and fired up the engine, its roar echoing through the parking lot. After exiting the parking lot, he drove onto the freeway and headed for downtown, where his penthouse apartment was. I wanted to jerk the wheel, causing him to crash and flip over at sixty miles per hour. I wanted to slam my foot on the gas, forcing him to speed down the road, leading to a high speed police chase that Jack couldn't stop.

My former girlfriend's lover opened his cell phone and began to dial. With a piqued curiosity, I leaned forward to listen as he said, "Hello, Gayle? It's Mr. Webster. I'm going to need a delivery tonight. Yes. Gayle, I'm beginning to think you know my tastes a little too well. Thirty Minutes? Make it twenty-five and I'll make it worth your while. Alright, see you then. Bye." As Jack closed his cell and I sat back against the backseat, I could only imagine what he wanted Gayle to deliver.

Jack turned off of the freeway, making his way into the brightly lit downtown area. He finally brought his BMW into an underground parking lot. After parking in a spot close to an elevator, he exited the car. Not wanting to spend the rest of the night in his car flailing like a drowning man to grab a parking brake, I followed him into the elevator.

After he pressed the P button, I watched him while the elevator slowly started up and then pulled us both upward into the depths of this testament to industry, success, and greed. I didn't know if spirits could feel dirty but I did. I wanted to take a shower from being around this smug cocky little bastard. I wondered if his place was a 40 square foot altar to him instead of a modest quaint pad.

You couldn't find a more self-indulgent, self-important living space if you tried. With me in stealthy tow, Jack opened the door to his penthouse apartment. An electronic female voice seductively chimed out, "Welcome to Mr. Webster's home." Hanging on the walls were large self-portraits in various poses. Most of them showed off his Adonis-like form and chiseled stature in some kind of muscle pose. I suppose because of his ego, his home had to be a den of love for himself since he spent all day kissing someone else's ass.

"Welcome yourself, hot stuff," he said with a sly smile, "Daddy's home." He took off his green polo shirt and tossed it into a clothes hamper. Apparently, he was in a hurry to discard his clothing because within thirty seconds, he became fully nude right in front of me. I covered my eyes and hoped to God he would at least put on a robe or something. After inspecting my palms up close for about a minute, I peeked to find that he had indeed put on his robe.

"Thank you for small favors." I said, looking up. Jack began to take down the portraits from the walls. He left alone the diplomas and credentials from Washington University and kept at least one portrait of himself on the wall. The others he carried with him through a wide hallway and into a door on the left. I followed him into a musky wooden den with a large computer desk with papers with financial reports stacked on top.

It must've been killing him in some way that Stacy was moving in. Having to take those Glamour Shots style photos of himself and burying them in a cardboard box in his den. No doubt when she is at work or while she is away, he'll look at them and fondle himself.

While he put away the photos, I found myself envisioning their life together. Stacy would come home from the museum to find Jack in bed with another woman. Instead of apologizing he would say, with that condescending smirk, that she was "just in time." She'd spend night after night drinking away the heartache he caused her. Hopefully she'd also feel bad for what she gave up with me to be with the sorry sack.

The doorbell chimed to Jack's surprise as well as my own. He evidently wasn't expecting company. I raced to the front door to see who it was. Stepping outside through the wall, I noticed a slender, tanned blonde with a large gray and white fur coat. I formed an unpleasant half-smile on my face. "Dr. Livingston, I presume?" I muttered with a chuckle. Of course, how silly of me not to notice the only reason a woman would wear a fur coat the dead of night.

Jack opened the door and a stunned look come over him. He checked his watch and said, "Hmmm. Twenty minutes. You must've left the phone off the hook, Gayle."

The blonde in fur said in the absolutely most annoying, bubbly voice you've ever heard, "No, silly. My husband would kill us both if he knew I was sleeping with his gorgeous protégé." She pulled off the fur coat to reveal the fully developed body she most likely had surgical augmentation on for a birthday present all wrapped up in a tiny blue two-piece bikini. Jack pulled her into the apartment, fur coat and all before shutting the door and locking it tight.

Yeah, I could tell he was really in love with Stacy. At first, I wanted to go back to the hospital and sit there yelling for Graham to just go ahead and kill me. Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind. I remembered Gayle called Jack her husband's protégé. To me, that could only mean one thing. Jack was nailing his boss's wife. I felt like there was more to this story and that I couldn't leave Jack Webster's den of debauchery just yet. Deciding to see what I can find out about this development, I walked through the wall again, back into the apartment.

"Jack," Gayle said with a cute but whiny tone, "I wanna do it in the shower. I just love how you have mirrors instead of regular glass surrounding it." I was intrigued as well, but not by the prospect of seeing this buxom blonde having sex with the guy who is also sleeping with my girlfriend. I wanted to see if he indeed had a shower where you could look at yourself in the mirror while you bathed.

I was shocked to find out that not only did he have a shower with mirrors on it. They were one-way mirrors, directed inward so you'd see your reflection on the inside but on the outside, anyone could look in. Jack still in his robe and Gayle, still in her bikini, frolicked like the hedonistic little bunnies they were into the shower and I had to leave the room out of disgust.

While they were busy having a grand old time in an open shower cage, I took the opportunity to walk around the rest of the penthouse. I noticed an entranceway with no knob on it. It appeared to be just a closet but I heard some kind of whirring noise behind the wall. At first, I thought it was the air conditioning, but the sound was too faint. Curious and not the least bit anxious to return to the shower, I walked through the wall to find a room filled with monitors. All of them were on but nothing was happening except in the shower where two monitors were fixated. It appeared that one of the camera's vantage points was coming from the west wall; the other was directly in the shower head, Gayle's sexually gratified face plastered on it for all to see.

Looking down on the control panel, I noticed there was a DVD hook-up with a disc inside. Jack was recording the entire steamy affair with Gayle on a DVD. But why would he do that? I looked at the shower monitor. I couldn't see Jack's face at all. And when I noticed them running to the shower, he stayed underneath the shower faucet, the where the second camera was broadcasting from.

Jack's face was never shown during the entire tawdry scene, but Gayle's face was seen, plain as day. That was why Jack installed the one-way mirror's inward and kept his face hidden in the shower. Every position he and Gayle were in, he made sure that Gayle's face was right in the camera's view.

I wondered if Jack's boss and Gayle's husband Monty would like to know how many times she praised his employee's superior sexual prowess. I sat on the couch hearing them grunt and groan for a good fifty minutes. When they finally exited the shower, wrapped in matching white robes, they entered the living room.

"That was amazing," Gayle said, letting out a contented sigh. She plopped her finely toned body onto the couch almost right next to me. I scattered frantically when Jack sat down next to her where I had been sitting.

Jack replied, "You are amazing, Gayle. You never disappoint me, babe." He planted a kiss on her cheek.

"So, you still plan on seeing me while that girl whoever is moving in here?" she said with a sly smile.

"Oh absolutely," he responded, "Why would I let a fine woman like you slip away? I think I'm man enough to handle two women at once."

Nuzzling Jack's cheek with her lips, Gayle said, "Be sure you aren't writing checks with your mouth that your body can't cash, baby."

"Well, I do care about Stacy. But moreover I just want to stick it to that writer boyfriend of hers. Well, now ex-boyfriend. She's going to leave him for me. It's why I took down the portraits." He leaned back and smiled at the idea that he put one over on me.

Gayle laid her head on her left hand looking dreamily at Jack as she said, "So why don't you like her boyfriend?"

"He's an author. A third-rate horror novelist and he can't support her. Plus, he's a geeky little loser and it has always been my philosophy that losers must always lose. That's why they're called losers." My first instinct was to tackle him and then rearrange his chiseled face. He films his conquests, steals other men's women and lives in an apartment which was until now a shrine to him. Yet somehow, I'm the loser.

Gayle stood up and walked back into the shower room. "I'll be right back. I need to grab my bikini." She came back wearing the tiny blue bikini over her body sans the robe. After she put her fur coat back on, Jack walked her to the door. She said, "Don't be a stranger, Jack."

"Thought never crossed my mind, baby. Take care," Jack said right before he shut the door. After walking down the hall, he began to laugh, "Stupid whore," I followed him down the hallway to the hidden entrance. He pulled off the air conditioning controls to reveal a numbered keypad. Punching in the numbers, "1891822" the wall slid away to the side. Jack entered the room and went directly to the DVD hook-up attached to the control panel. He took out the disc and kissed it lightly, saying, "Hello, corner office."

My eyes widened in shock as I began to put the pieces together. Jack never let his face be seen in the camera but made damn sure Gayle's face was unmistakably seen. I felt bad for her that this lying, scheming, son of a bitch was using her to advance his career. Then a horrifying thought occurred to me as he began to place another disc inside the DVD player.

This "home movie" featured him and Stacy. He wasn't camera shy at all for this one. It was in his master bedroom and she looked to be having the time of her life. The truth was written on her face plain as day. She was in love with him. But he was still a rotten, despicable slab of vermin. I left the room and repeating to myself the number he punched in while I exited Jack's palace of perversion.

A couple of hours after leaving the apartment, I managed to get back to the hospital by hitching rides on passing cars. Due to me being a spirit, I couldn't flag down any cars. So I would jump into the backseats of some vehicles. You have to time your jumps just right so as to get in just as the backseat is coming at you. It takes a few tries, more often than not falling on your ass. I'm sure God was having a laugh riot seeing this nimrod try to jump into cars.

Ironically enough, the vehicle that got me to the hospital was an ambulance. I landed in the rear cab where two EMTs tended to their patient. She was lying on the stretcher with a heavily bandaged right wrist which was covered in blood. Her black curly hair spread underneath her head and all over the pillow. She appeared to be wearing a red negligee with large, slightly heaving bosoms.

I saw her beautiful blue eyes open ever so slightly. It looked like she wanted to talk, but her air mask was foggy, making hard to tell for sure. The commotion in the cab wouldn't help matters, either. It was loud enough with the siren outside, but the EMTs were spouting off medical jargon as well as curses.

We entered the hospital bay toward the emergency room. While the two men delivered her into the emergency room, I followed them, wanting to know more. "What have we got?" A long haired male doctor asked.

"Mia Mendoza, female Hispanic, mid 30's, laceration on the right wrist. Unconscious at the scene." The EMT said so fast I almost didn't catch it all.

Like a field general in the heat of battle, the doctor relayed his commands by saying, "Alright we got lucky with this one, let's not blow it. I need her file and see if we have any bags of her blood type stocked. Nurse, I need an IV down here stat. Roy, get me a crash cart. We need to change this bandage; it's already soaked so she might've sliced an artery.

The doctor's voice seemed to trail off as I saw Mia sit up and walk away from her body still dressed in her red negligee. Her eyes locked onto mine and she stopped. With a puzzled look, she said, "Who are you?" Stunned by the fact that she could see me, I was unable to reply. Her face changed slowly from astonishment to fright as she repeated her question. "Who are you?"

Not wanting to alarm her, I said, "Connor. Are you Mia?"

Mia lowered her sky blue eyes to the floor and said, "Si. I am dead?"

Looking over to the doctor, desperately trying to save her life, I saw him defibrillating her. "Clear!" he shouted, sending the electricity into her body, "Come on, Mia. Don't do this! Don't give up! Clear!" Another shock was sent through her body. I heard Mia, who stood behind me, groaning in pain as they tried to keep her alive. She staggered, as if she was being drawn back toward the bed where her body lies.

"No," she said, "I don't want to go back!"

My eyes welled up and I felt like I wanted to reach out to her, but I was afraid of what that would do. It could mean helping her die and that's not my place to decide. And even if I chose to grab onto her, could I? Graham holding me up was one thing, but could I really touch her as a fellow spirit? I had no idea what to do, but ask, "Why did you do it?"

"I cannot bear it! I cannot!" she said, seemingly ignoring me. Suddenly, she let out a scream. It was like having a block of ice materialize in my stomach, chilling the soul like nothing ever had before. While her horrified shout pierced my mind, her spirit body was contorted and sucked back into her body like dirt before a vacuum cleaner.

The hospital felt more claustrophobic now than in previous visits. My non-existent lungs contracted tight within my chest. My heartbeat escalated as though Keith Moon was using it for a jam session with The Who.

As I watched, transfixed on the young woman in dire need, the doctors stabilized her condition. The Lord as well as I watched over her as they shoved her out of the ER and into a recovery room. Hours passed but I couldn't help but stay by her side. I'd come to think that none of the events in the past week had been chance. Finding out Jack's dirty little secrets, as well as Stacy's betrayal apparently were truths I had to find out. But what was I supposed to learn from this?

Sunrise hit the room, giving it a tinted orange color as I sat by Mia's side. I had spoken to her about how life was worth living. That nothing could be so horrible that she had to slice her way into eternity. I could be saying these things to myself, but I didn't want to leave her and miss what I was supposed to learn.

A portly elderly woman walked into the room, shouting "Dios Mio, Mija" in tearful desperation.

"Mama?" Mia said with a groan, her eyes opening slowly.

"What happened? The doctors called me and said you had been put here and---" One look at the bandages on the young woman's right wrist laid out the entire story. "Mia! You know suicide is a sin!" shouted her mother.

"I know, mama," she tearfully replied, "I'm so sorry..."

Though her face displayed anger at her daughter's recklessness and selfish decision, her eyes were submerged in tears and forgiveness. Kissing her daughter's hand and then her cheek, she said, "Why, mija? Why would you do this?"

"He left me, mama," she said, choking back her sorrow, "I don't know why. Miguel came home and said that he wants a divorce." Mia's shaking hand traced down toward her stomach, which indicated to me that she was pregnant.

"Mia," she said, stroking her cheek, "that is my grandchild. Familia. We will help you through this. Those who love you always stand by you in times of hardship. They bear the burden of pain with you, so it doesn't crush you under its weight. Remember, Mia, even Jesus had to have help carrying his cross to the hill."

As mother and daughter embraced and shared a cry together, I still wasn't sure what I was supposed to figure out. I walked out of the room, barely making it before men that I assumed were her brother and father entered.

Diving out of the elevator while it passed my floor, I found myself back in the waiting room where this whole crazy journey started. After getting to my feet, I ducked and dodged doctors, patients and visitors before entering my room.

Before my eyes, I saw Nina sitting by my bed. Stacy was nowhere to be found, though I honestly could've cared less at the time. Her eyes were red and puffy, as though she had been crying. "Do you remember in Mrs. Folger's tenth grade chemistry class when you mixed the sulfuric acid and the calcium chloride? I swear that stuff wouldn't stop flowing from the test tube. You kept going 'I'm sorry' the whole time the teacher bitched you out.

"I told you that you should stick to writing, since it was the only thing you seemed to be good at. And what do you know? I was right. Here you are; a successful horror writer in one of America's greatest melting pots of art and culture. You're living in an apartment with a similarly creative woman who is very pretty. You have a really nice life." After the things I had seen in the past twenty-four hours, I seriously doubted that assertion.

She took my hand in hers and said, "I guess I just wonder how I fit in with all of this. I'm not creative, at least not on your level. Rolling Stone isn't filling my voicemail to capacity for photo ops. I did get a promotion to assistant manager of the shop, though.

"I have something I have to say. Every time I come, I find you by yourself. Stacy seems to always be away or something. For the past week since you've been here, I haven't seen her once. I don't know what's going on between you two, but she should understand that if she loved you, it wouldn't be me who now knows the nurses on a first-name basis.

"I don't know if she's working or if she's doing something else, but if it were me," Nina paused, tears welling up in her eyes once more before bursting from her sockets. She wept out, "I'd never leave your side, and aside from going home after visiting hours, I haven't. I've used up all of my sick days but I don't care. I'll phone in every hour on the hour to check with the doctors about your progress."

Sitting back and listening to all of this, I found myself stunned. Sure, Jack had said that Nina was in love with me, but coming from him, I didn't really believe it. Tears welled up in my eyes and I stood by as she poured her heart out to my lifeless, yet living shell of a human being.

"Connor," she said, her voice trembling and her hand on my cheek, "You've been so wonderful to me. Listening to me go on and on about my problems, buying my lunch, keeping me company for every night I cried over Ned. I...I love you."

I stood speechless hearing every word that she apparently had built up a long time to say to me. Shyness, lack of courage or respect for my feelings and the relationship with Stacy forced her to keep her mouth shut.

"Are you really that surprised?" a voice came out from behind me. Turning sharply, Graham walked into the room with a beaming smile and the same suit he wore when we first met.

"Y-yes," I said, watching Nina plant a soft kiss on my cheek, then my hand.

"She's always here. Except for visiting hours, she hasn't left your side except for the night you and I met. But while she was gone, her cell lit up the hospital's phone lines with calls about your condition. Stacy, on the other hand, has other things on her mind. The movers are at the apartment already taking her stuff out. I think you see where I'm going with this."

"So," I said, looking over to Nina and my husk of a body, "all of this was to tell me I should be with Nina?"

Shaking his head, he replied, "No. As I said, you were going to find out the truth about everything. Stacy, Jack, Nina and yourself. Three down, one to go."

"So what do I have to learn about myself?" I asked.

Graham placed his hand on my shoulder and calmly replied, "You have to learn that with all you've found out, what you will do with that knowledge."

Pacing back and forth while Nina let one of the nurses check my vitals, I said, "Jack and Stacy really hurt me. And they should pay. But Nina...she's been there for me like I have for her. All of this is just too much."

"You have a choice to make, Connor. What will you do with your life now that you've been given this rare glimpse?" Graham began to pull away, yet his feet didn't move. A tingling sensation came over me as I looked at my body. Like Mia's did to her, it seemed to be pulling me violently back to life.

As I lay awake in this bed, writing this memoir to you, know that not everyone will experience what I have gone through. They probably won't even remember everything like I have.

Like I said in the beginning, I have a choice to make. God has given me a second chance at life. My eyes are open, now and I can see what matters to me. My decision is clear to me.

I pray that when you read this you will ask yourself, "What would I do with a second chance?"

Well? What would YOU do?