Ghosting Zoë

Part 8

"Who's that?" Chuck asked.

"Not again!" Maple moaned.

Zoë checked her phone and saw a message from the now-familiar number.

| Zoë, are you there? Something strange is going on.

What's strange is that I keep responding to your texts. Honestly, Edgar. |

| I'm in some strange place and can't seem to get out.

When Zoë showed the messages to her friends, Maple said, "Just when I thought it couldn't get any weirder!"

| I can't seem to reach anyone else. The only number that works is yours.

Sounds like your phone's on the fritz. Did you drop it or something? |

| There was some kind of shock, like static electricity. My phone hasn't worked right since.

| I really need some help, Zoë. I don't know what this place is, and I can't get out.

Where are you? |

Edgar texted her a link to a Google map with a pin on it.

"This is way beyond appropriate — or safe," Maple said.

"Maple's right," Chuck said. "It's way outside the rules of online dating."

"But what if he's for real? Remember the poem."

"If you're determined to do this," Chuck said, "at least let me go with you."

Zoë and Chuck got in his delivery van and followed the map to 123 N. Yancey St. When they pulled up to the address, they saw a sign that read Lee Funeral Home.

"A mortuary?" Zoë said. "This is getting creepy!"

"My uncle's a funeral director, and he's a great guy," Chuck said, patting Zoë's hand. "Maybe Edgar's here for a service."

As they stepped inside, they were greeted by a man in a dark suit. "Are you friends of Mr. Jones?" he asked. "We're in the middle of the visitation just now."

He handed them a program with a picture of a dark-haired young man.

"Oh, my God, Chuck! Look!"

The cover of the program read, "Celebrating the Life of Edgar A. Jones."

"He's dead?" Chuck said with alarm. "When did it happen?"

"Two weeks ago," the funeral director said. "We've been trying to notify next of kin but haven't been able to locate any. Apparently, Mr. Jones grew up in an orphanage."

Zoë's heart sank. "Oh, the poor lamb," she said. "How, how did he ... die?"

"The police said he was at a party at the home of a friend, named Nathaniel, I believe. When the lights went out, Mr. Jones volunteered to check the fuse box. It was just a mild jolt, I understand, but he had a heart arrhythmia, and so ..."

Looking around the room, Chuck asked, "Who are all these kids?"

"Oh, foster children, teenagers from the youth shelter," the funeral director said. "Mr. Jones knew them from the charity he worked for."

Near the casket at the front of the room, one girl was tearfully saying, "Edgar was so good! He never forgot a promise! Somehow, he even got me into my acting class after he ... died!"

"You're Macy, aren't you?" Zoë said, putting her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Edgar told me all about you, in his text messages."

"Maybe you can help us with that," the funeral director said. "We haven't been able to shut off his phone. I'm afraid I'm not very good with technology."

As he handed the phone to Zoë, a trail of blue light shot out from the device with a loud crackle and touched her fingertip. She let out a short shriek, and then the screen went black.

Zoë held the phone to her heart for a moment and then, looking down at the darkened screen, said, "Goodbye, Edgar."

That Saturday night, after Chuck finished his set at Beats and Brews, he and Zoë sat close together, his arm around her, to watch their new friend make her stage debut.

The girl walked out and set a framed portrait of a young man on a stool. Taking a paper napkin from her pocket, she said, "I'm Macy, and I'd like to read a poem in honor of absent friends."

"Come sit with me and coffee sip ..."

R.J. Post is the author of "Lion Taming, Dating and Other Dangerous Endeavors" and "A Shovelful of Winter," which are available on Amazon.