Avenging a Ghost

Chapter Six: If You Don't Remember

My common sense tells me that there's no way that Phoebe could have been murdered. Thankfully, I never listen to it.

"You really think---you think---oh, wow." I bounce from foot to foot, trying to hide my excitement at having a real, actual murder case on my hands. "What do you remember about your death? Was there anyone you recall?"

Phoebe shrugs. "No clue."

"Come on, you have to remember something," I persist. "Shadow? Voice? Any distinguishing features?"

"Nope."

"Anybody follow you in here? Or take you here?"

"I don't remember, okay?" Phoebe snaps. "Why do you think I'm so desperate to find out who? If I had any clue of how I got here or how I ended up hanging from the rafters, I would probably know who killed me."

I stop. "But everyone knows how they died. They remember how it happened. That's how it always... works..."

Agnie didn't know how she died.

But she was really young. She didn't have a firm grasp on death. And all of the Depressed know, so it can't be the same for Phoebe.

Unless...

"Phoebe, come on," I say, grabbing her hand. "We're going to pay a call on a fellow murderee."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I think you know why you can't remember anything." I drag her out of the shack and race down the street.

"What the---how the hell can you touch me?"

"I can see, therefore I can touch. How do you feel about going back to school for a sec?"

                                                         ~~~

I skid to a stop in front of Aaron, who almost drops the book he was reading in surprise.

"Damien told me you skipped! Why are you---is that Phoebe?"

"I have something really really really important to ask you," I say in a rush.

"Damn," Phoebe says, looking Aaron up and down. "I was not expecting someone this hot."

"Thanks for the compliment. I prefer dudes."

"Are there any straight guys who look like you, then? Ones who are... like us?"

"Uh---"

"Guys, focus!" I snap my fingers. "Aaron, do you remember dying?"

Aaron gives me a weird look. "Uh... no. Obviously."

I frown. "But you'd always known about Raymond."

"Yeah, 'cause I saw his arrest on the news. Not to mention that the gunshot wound is kind of a dead giveaway."

"This doesn't make sense at all," I murmur, starting to pace. "You're definitely not too young to know how you died, so---"

"Age isn't an issue when it comes to death," Aaron cuts in. "It's true that when you're little, it's more murky than a clear memory, but anybody who gets murdered has absolutely no memory of their death. It's because it was someone else's decision, rather than an accident, sickness, or by choice."

My brain is running at a mile an hour. "But---I've met victims of police brutality. That should count, right?"

Aaron sighs. "They don't remember it either, Lauren. They see themselves on the news and put together the pieces."

"And didn't you think that already?" Phoebe adds. "I'm assuming that's why you dragged me over here, right?"

I groan. "I know, I know, it's just---before I moved here, I was friends with a little ghost girl who got murdered, but another ghost told me that the reason why she didn't remember is because she was so young. I ended up moving a few months later."

Aaron raises an eyebrow. "Really? And how old were you?"

"Eleven," Phoebe says.

I turn around and stare at her.

"What? Nobody remembered you from elementary school, and everyone knew that Casey was in that lame-ass buddy program for new kids. Plus, your birthday's in January, and you clearly moved here over the summer, so you couldn't have been ten."

"I... wow." I shake my head. "You could make a pretty good detective."

Phoebe shrugs. "Depends on who you ask."

"Okay, I don't think that a ghost would've let you in on the secrets of being murdered when you were eleven," Aaron interjects. "Lots of the grown-up ghosts are annoyingly protective."

I let out a stream of swears that surprise even me. Phoebe rubs her ear after I finish.

"If Miss Stacy wasn't already dead and across the country, I would kill her," I seethe. "How could she not tell me something that important? How could she just leave me in the dark?"

"I personally prefer being left in the dark about some things," Phoebe murmurs.

I whip around and glare at her. "I don't need your opinion, Jefferson!"

"Seriously, Maxwell, I do," she says, crossing her arms. "Sometimes, knowing too much can get you killed. Maybe that's even what happened to me. Besides, would you have actually wanted to lie awake at night thinking about all those unavenged murder victims? You were an eleven-year-old kid moving across the country---did you really need that much pressure?"

"YES!" I scream. "Then I could've actually done something about it, and maybe even, oh, I don't know, find out who killed Agnie!"

Aaron and Phoebe stare at me as I catch my breath.

"Was she that ghost girl?" Phoebe asks.

I swallow and nod. "She was from the 1960s. From what I could put together, she was killed because she was the only black kid at her school."

"Jesus," Aaron whispers. "And I thought my time was bad."

"It's not like it's really better these days, though," Phoebe admitted. "I mean, things are changing and all, but I never got the nerve to tell my parents that I'm bi, or even tell them what it means..."

Her face goes red as she realizes what she's said.

"Anyways, the best thing to do is to ask some of the ghosts in the area," Aaron says quickly. "Obviously someone saw something, and maybe we can get a description. Lauren, you can claim that you were in the area when we go to the police, and---"

I hold up a finger. "Back up a bit. Phoebe, what was that you were saying?"

"Don't worry about it," she mutters. "Can we just---can we just get moving?"

There's no way in hell I'm going to just set this aside. The girl who I once thought was a homophobe is bisexual. I repeat, Phoebe Jefferson is bisexual.

I'm going to be focusing on this for years.