NECROMANTIC

twenty three.

Marcus was building a carefully constructed tower made out of white plastic forks and spoons when I walked into IHOP, ten or so minutes later than the pre-arranged time of eleven.

It fell over when I sat down opposite him, the gust of air from my arrival causing the tumble, the disposable cutlery clacking softly in a little pile.

Marcus looked peeved about that, until he looked up and saw me – and his expression was a mixture of worry and what I really hoped was trepidation, before smoothing out into relief, and then the same smug smirk he'd had when he introduced himself. "Sarah," he nodded at me. "You came."

I didn't answer him verbally, instead folding my arms across my chest and raising an eyebrow – which meant get the fuck on with it.

He didn't seem to get that, however, as he shifted in the seat to look behind him, and then back to me, raising his own eyebrow "And where's Zombie Boy?"

"Rob's not coming." I said sharply.

Marcus's eyebrow went up further, before he shrugged. He plucked up one of the menus from the table, and gestured to it. "Want anything to eat? My treat. The raspberry white chocolate chip pancakes are superb. But then again so are the New York cheesecake pancakes. And the strawberry banana ones. And the chocolate chip ones. But, I mean, you can't go wrong with the classic buttermilk ones, either. And the French toast! And oh, the crepes-"

"Please stop listing the menu." I snapped, unfolding my arms and pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes in frustration. "I've been to IHOP before. I knowing what they fucking serve."

For a moment, Marcus was quiet, and I thought – hoped – he'd dropped the whole thing, but then he said "Excuse me!" loudly and I lowered my hands to see him signalling a waitress over.

"Hi there! How can I help ya, hon?" the waitress asked with a cheery voice.

"Hi!" Marcus said back, just as cheerily, and it made me groan, and press my hands back to my eyes. "Um, I'll have... a stack of raspberry white chocolate chip pancakes, a stack of New York cheesecake pancakes, a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, a stack of buttermilk pancakes... and um, banana crepes with Nutella."

The woman sounded surprised, but pleased at his large order, chirpily saying "Sure thing!" before – unfortunately – turning her attention to me. "And what about you, sweetheart?"

I'd feel bad about it later, but right now, what with meeting Marcus and this whole goddamned situation – no, actually, my whole goddamned life right now - I just wasn't in the mood to force politeness and I growled at her. Exactly like the warning noise a big Rottweiler would make. And it worked. The waitress let out a small gasp, and Marcus quickly said "We're gonna share! Sorry, she's just a bit grumpy, lack of sleep or something, don't take it personal." He awkwardly laughed.

"Oh." She said, her voice bright, but unsure, like she didn't believe him. Which she shouldn't. "Ok. Any drinks?"

"Two chocolate milks." He said, and the waitress told him the order would be 'ready in a jiffy!' and left.

Marcus was awkwardly quiet for a few moments after the waitress had gone, before clearing his throat. "Not a morning person?"

Not a Marcus person. "We didn't come here to eat pancakes, Marcus." I eventually lowered my hands again – my eyes were beginning to ache anyhow, from the pressure I was pushing onto them with – and put them on the table in front of me, in fists balled up so tight my knuckles were ready to burst through the skin. I didn't want to look him in the eyes – but I did. To unnerve him. Show him I wasn't going to tolerate any more fuck-arounds.

He did that awkward laugh again – and tried to maintain eye contact with me, too, but clearly felt too uneasy to, so kept looking away, before looking back again. "I know, I just figured since we were here..."

I narrowed my eyes slightly, and visibly balled my fists up even tighter.

He stopped laughing. And then... his face dropped. Became serious. His jaw tightened. "Ok." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. "We're here to talk."

"So talk." I snapped.

He eyed me carefully, and cleared his throat before saying "So... what do you wanna talk about first?"

I considered. "How about we start with 'who the fuck are you?'"

"Um... I'm Marcus Knox, I'm from Lynn-"

"Not that shit." I cut him off. "You know what I mean."

He hesitated. "Ok... I first realised I could... see the dead when I was ten. When my dad died, when he succumbed to his cancer, in his bedroom. I freaked out majorly, because he was lying on the bed, still and cold, and my mom was crying in the chair she'd set up so she could keep a vigil beside him, holding one of his hands, but he was also standing on the opposite side of the bed, staring at mom and dead him, confused. Mom thought I was acting out because of grief. She put up with me for a while, saying 'dad's not dead, he keeps following you around the house, looking confused'. Then she got sick of it. Started drinking and getting mad. So I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Two years later, she died, too, of alcohol poisoning, and when we went to the house to pack away her stuff, and have the wake, she was there, standing beside my dad. And they were holding hands. I don't know if they're still there, ghosts, or if they finally moved on.

"I probably saw ghosts, before then. And after. I just didn't register them as ghosts because I thought they were people. I don't know. I put the fact I saw dad, and mom, as it being because they were my parents, until I was seventeen and three of my friends got drunk, drove, and were all killed when a truck smashed into the side of their car. Two of them were killed instantly. One of them was so badly mutilated he wasn't recognisable when they got to the scene. The other – her name was Danielle – she was still alive. Barely. Got taken to hospital, put on life support, didn't look good. I'd been at home, that night, because there was a Harry Potter marathon on, of all things. Went straight to the hospital and sat with her all I could. But I saw them. The other two. It was... it was horrific. And all they were doing was staring at her. Waiting.

"She died, with me in the room. Had a heart attack and the monitors went silent and all these doctor's ran in, and they tried to get me to leave, but I refused to let go of her hand, and it started to hurt and – and she sucked in a breath. I brought her back. And... to this day, she doesn't know she'd died. Well, she does. But everybody – but me – just thought it was some miracle."

He was quiet for a long while, after he finished speaking. And looking at him, I could see the waver in his tightened jaw, the way his words had gotten thicker, and deeper toward the end of his story. The way his eyes shone, with emotion.

And all I could say was "Shit."

"Yeah." He said, and nodded, laughing once, bleakly. "Since then... it was just my new normalcy. I started to be able to pick out the dead from the living. My aunt's dog died, after a heart attack, when I was eighteen. She loved that dog with her whole heart, had had him for eight years. I brought him back. A little boy got hit by an ice-cream truck when I was twenty. I brought him back before the driver even got out to check on him. I noticed that he, and Tucker the dog, and Danielle had something different about them that set them off from other people. So that's how I could tell Rob had been brought back." He shrugged. "It was just my life."

I opened my mouth to reply, but it was then that the waitress returned, balancing the drinks and the first two stacks of pancakes – which, admittedly, smelled really good – assuring us she'd be back momentarily with the rest.

I didn't bother to speak again until all the food had been laid out and she'd gone once more.

And I said "Ok. But if that's... 'your life', then what the hell has any of this got to do with you being here? Speaking to me? How you even found me?"

Marcus was attacking one of the chocolate chip pancakes, and his mouth was full when he replied "Oh, that's all because of the people that want to kill us."