Somewhere In-Between ~ An Adventure in the Afterlife

Chapter 3 - Lizzie Boggs

"Lizzie, are you okay? Why are you crying?" Lizzie's mom asked, concerned. Lizzie had been crying a lot in the past couple years. She'd gone through therapy to help her, but there didn't seem to be much of a change.

"Sorry, mom," Lizzie wiped her face. "I was just thinking about a boy at school who died recently."

Her mother grew more concerned. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't hear about that. Was he a friend of yours?"

Friend of mine? Lizzie almost laughed inside. She hated that Max kid. He was one of the boys that always teased her. But she couldn't tell her mom the truth about why she was crying, so she let it go. "I was just thinking about his family, that's all. They must be pretty sad about what happened. It's just a sad thing."

"Have you talked to Dr. Lewis about this at all?" Her mom asked, cautiously. They agreed way back that what was discussed in therapy stayed in therapy, but there were times her mom slipped up. She was just so worried about Lizzie. She never talked about friends, and when the family wanted to go out anywhere for fun, Lizzie seemed very withdrawn. She insisted on bringing her MP3 player everywhere, listening to her loud music all the time.

"Mom, remember, I don't want to talk about my therapy stuff." Lizzie crossed her arms.

Mrs. Boggs raised a hand. "Sorry, sorry. I know. End of subject, okay?"

They turned off Cleveland Street, onto Forest Road, and a quick left behind the graveyard. Lizzie wondered why the heck her parents decided to buy a house by the graveyard, and she wondered if that was the cause of the problems she'd been having.

After helping her mom bring the groceries inside, Lizzie went straight upstairs to her room. She always kept her blinds closed, because she was the lucky one with the graveyard view from her bedroom. And they wonder why I need therapy, she thought to herself.

She plopped onto the bed and reached for her headphones. She scanned through the selections on her MP3. What will it be today? She mused. Lindsey Stirling? Ane Brun? She decided on Peter Gabriel. Her dad got her into that artist, as he did with most of the music she decided she loved, and listening to it always made her feel good, thinking of him.

As the tunes soothed her, she also hoped it would tune out anyone who tried contacting her again. She placed crosses all around her room, hoping that would protect her against her daily intruders. One over her door, one over her window, and one over her bed, just for extra security.

She reached for the journal she kept on her nightstand, her Totoro pen, and began her afternoon routine. It was part of her therapy to keep a daily journal.

Today sucked, she wrote. I wish I could just make them stop coming to me. I don't understand. What is it about me, anyway? Why doesn't anyone else see them the way I do? Her tears started to come again. She angrily wiped them away. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. Maybe I am. They come to me so often now, and I don't seem to be safe anywhere. They come to me at school, at the grocery store, at restaurants, even my own home. These dead people – they keep coming to me, asking for help. How on earth can I help them? What do they want from me? And how do they know to come to me anyway? I try ignoring them and they still come. Every day. EVERY DAY.

I even saw one from the car on my way home today. More tears came as she remembered. It was terrible. I can still hear him calling out my name. It's the first dead person I've seen that I actually recognized, and he knows my name! His name is Max. I remember him from school. He and his friends always made fun of me. They called me "Dizzy Lizzie."

Lizzie paused, and frowned. Max Fletcher has another thing coming if he thinks he's getting any help from me. What kind of help does he want from me anyway? She remembered the desperate look on Max's face. He looked so afraid, so lonely. For a kid who never cared about her when he was alive, he sure seemed to want to talk to her now that he was dead. Why was that, anyway? Lizzie continued to write.

It must be pretty lonely on the other side if someone like Max Fletcher suddenly becomes so desperate to talk to me. He looked at me as if he wanted me to save him from something. But save him from what?

Her thoughts wandered as she continued to move the pen.

I really don't understand why or how these dead people are even around. I believe in heaven and hell, but what is with these dead people? They seem to me like they're stuck in a place where they don't belong. Could it be that there is a place that exists – kind of like purgatory. A place... somewhere in between heaven and hell? She paused again, wondering further, continuing to write as if in a trance. The people who come to see me always seem to want my help. I keep wondering what kind of help they're looking for. What is it that they think I can do for them? What makes me so special?

Lizzie froze at that thought, and immediately scowled at herself. With a snort, she scribbled out that sentence. "What makes you so special, Lizzie Boggs? Nothing! Who do you think you are?!" She sneered at herself.

She slammed the journal closed, tossed it back onto her nightstand, and threw the pen across the room. The sobbing started back up again as she lay on her back, hands pressed against her face, listening to Peter Gabriel's "Don't Give Up."