Dye Me Dead

DYE ME DEAD

Jay Stempin

Chapter 1

Michael

The tall bookshelf, bookended by dozens of Medusa-haired skulls, squeaked to life by the sound of a tricycle pedaled by a faerie with daisy petal hair. Green skin. Looked like a flower. She skidded to a halt in front of a paperback edition of Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man.

 “Hey Mike, what’s the deal? Thought we had plans to get rid of him. As you can see snow’s falling hard. We really should get going. You know how I get around wintry weather.”

“Name’s not Mike. How many times I got to tell you? It’s Michael.”

“Sure it is, Mike. You’re with the syndicate, right? Know all about you. And I’m here to remind you of our mission. And let me reiterate the ‘our’ in this mission. You’ll get used to working for me. What? You don’t like that idea? Is that why you’re shedding skin like snowflakes? Get a grip. For the love of all the ash in Hades thought you’d be better equipped, emotionally.”

“First off, Esmeralda, who’s the fool you’re referring to? Don’t work with many fools. But I know a few.” He gave her a long icy stare. He had dealt with fae before, notorious for trickery and games.

“I’m kind as a dewy flower.”

He smiled, knowing full-well that kindness was one of the last resorts for a faerie.

She cringed as if someone had offered her a slice of raw liver.

 “We’re all one here.”

“Is that so? Get your gear, Mike. Time to head into the wilderness window.”

Michael stepped outside. Snow was falling hard, sideways and upside-down. Some flakes, with the wind whipping about, were turned inside-out.

He buttoned up his winter jacket and laced up a pair of snowshoes and trudged into the woods, pausing under a fat oak that formed a protective umbrella against the snow. He dropped his mittens into a pocket and rolled up his sleeve and blinked at his forearm. A tattooed map appeared on his arm revealing his current location and the surrounding topography of Nevada City, California.

He muttered an incantation in the name of Zig and Zag Saunders. Zig and Zag were twins, brother and sister, born in San Francisco. They now lived in Nevada City and had been praying for help, via social media devices on their iPhones. Michael was assigned as their social worker.

Michael trudged through the snowy woodlands until he reached a fork in the trail: one, to his left, followed a stream, the other a steep rocky snow-covered hill to his right. He glance over his shoulder, sensing he was being watched. The snow had stopped falling and the sun appeared, mirroring its bright moony light against the snowy landscape. He did not see anyone in the area and noticed had not left any snowshoe prints in the trail. He grinned and winked at the sky.

 Onward he trudged until he spotted a cabin nestled amid a throng of trees. He removed his snowshoes, hooked them onto a pine branch. His boots crunched through the snow. Still no track marks in his wake. At the cabin’s front door, he stomped snow from his boots on the front mat: Welcome for the Last Time.

A woman with short-cropped hair highlighted in purple answered the door. She was dressed in slippers and thermals and a wool sweater. Looked to be in her twenties.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

Michael bowed and took a step back. “Hello, friend. Is this the residence of Zag Saunders?”

“Last time I checked, yes.”

“I’m here on her behalf. Are you Zag?”

She shook her head and placed a finger under her dimpled chin.

“You’re here to help my brother, aren’t you? I’ve been wishing for you to come. He’s sick with an injury and has trouble getting around.”

“I do not!”

The gruff reply came from deeper in the cabin.

“Oh shush your mouth,” she snapped over her shoulder. “And don’t get out of bed.”

The sound of a floorboard squeaking was followed by something dragging.

Tap. Drag. Tap.

Zig rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t listen very well.”

“And you’re not taking my friend from me,” continued the same gruff voice. “Julius’s mine.”

A man appeared next to Zig. Sandy brown disheveled hair and blue eyes rimmed in gold. Hooded sweatshirt with two crescent moon patches, each with a faerie dangling by one arm from the moon’s arched edge. One fae was waving the peace sign with two fingers, the other flipping the bird.

“This is Zag,” said Zig. “My brother. Were twins.”

The likeness was remarkable. Same blue eyes. Same sandy hair. The woman was about an inch taller. Zag had long hair twirled into a single braid. He had carved his crutch into the likeness of a braid with the head of Medusa on the handle.

 “Would you like to come in, Michael?”

Michael gave pause, surprised by her knowingness. He offered a humbling nod. “You’re a wise one, Ms. Zig. Very in-tune with the realm beyond the physical plane. We all need to be in tune. And here we are: to remember who we are and why we’re here.”

Winter winds slid under the cabin’s front door causing an icy draft that’d make a snowman’s pee freeze. Zig shoved a rug to the door, blocking the gap.

Zag, leaning on a crutch, boasted: “We’ve been praying and meditating for you to come. For years. Glad you’re here. But you sure took your time. Run out of gas? Get lost Hoodwinked by a rabid wolf?” Zag turned and hobbled to a sofa and sat next to a hand-stitched Guatemalan blanket scrunched up on the sofa.

There, seated on a throw pillow, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knee, was Esmeralda.

“Took you long enough,” smirked Esmeralda.

“Hello. Been supporting these two, I hope. Let’s get down to business then.”

She buzzed around Zag’s head and cartwheeled through the air, landed on his shoulder. “Be kind, silly human. Be kind. Stay loving to Julius.”

Esmeralda took flight and disappeared under the gap in the front door. Gone.

They all sat at the kitchen table. Michael set his coat on the chairback. He was wearing a black T-shirt filled with a collage of interlocking gold halos. Stamped over the halos, in bold white letters: Archangels 27 Buddhas 9. 

 “Zag, how you been? What’s been going on with you? What’s good?”

Zag’s eyes remained on the window, watching snow fall and twinkle in the morning light.

“You mean being dead?” Zag shrugged. “Feel the same, I guess. What about Emma? I really miss her. Wonder if I’ll see her again. By the way, got your message last week. That dream was vivid, dude.”

“Hope it set your soul free.”

Wings bloomed from Michael’s V-shaped back; he yawned, and then scratched his arm with a wingtip before they disappeared into the crystalline comfort of his spine.

“Worried about Emma.”

“Oh stop,” said Michael in a feathery tone. “You’ve got a gift but you must remember not to allow emotions into your threaded consciousness. Your empowering energy can be a bit of a double-edged sword.”

“Ya think…? You referring to being able to remember past-lives? Yeah, it sucks. That’s almost worse than being dead. Probably a close second. My heart’s heavy right now. Like I’ve got Fred Flintstone’s stone house on my chest.”

Michael sprinkled a handful of glittery dust over Zag’s head, and began to sing, ever so softly. It was an unfamiliar tune with an intoxicating rhythm to it. Catchy.

“This’ll help you, for a time. New recipe.” His bright brown eyes smiled.

“What were you singing?”

“A new recipe blend Just put it together. Been working with a local spellfarmer who helped me sync my singing recipes with her herbal blends. She’s got quite the garden in the canopy.”

There was a pause.

“You talking about Belle Gaia?”

Michael grinned. “You’re tuning in. You’re intuitive, just like your sister.”

Zag’s face said he not all that impressed with these hunches. “Just echoing what I hear in my mind. What was so special about that? What I really want: find Emma.”

“Careful with those memories. Could be hundreds, or even thousands, of years old.”

Zag did feel lighter though; he expressed all this to Michael and Zig. A smile formed on his face.

“What is it?” said Zig. “Haven’t seen you smile like that in eons.”

“I see her, in my mind. Emma’s face fills my thoughts.” He gazed off again, as if the wooden crossbeams under the ceiling were talking to him. “Her infectious laugh, like silver wind chimes vibrating sweet tonal chords. Perfect." 

“Come out back. Got to show you something. You know you’re becoming quite the popular one, in certain circles,” said Michael.

“Just got to find out what happened to her.”

“Brother, you’re popular. Great news.” Zig’s eyes beamed.

“Popularity doesn’t interest me,” he said solemnly and closed the door after Michael followed them to the back porch. “Right now, I’m just going to hold onto her smiling image, her soft caramel eyes, her touch.”

“Okay. Too much information,” Zig said, tugging on a ski hat.

“Emma’s silky locks rolled down her back. Her youthful enthusiasm was everything wrapped in a bow.” Zag sighed, leaned his crutch on the wooden screened-in back porch.

Michael said: “You think she’s dead, don’t you?”

Zag gave him a funny look and shielded a ray of sun streaming through the tall snow-covered pines. A forest of trees stretched out in front of them. A narrow twin-pathed trail meandered from the cabin and disappeared into the Wood.

“If she is, why can’t I be with her? Flippin’ sucks, dude.”

“You’re toying with memories. Don’t you know how taxing that can be?”

Zane shook his head. “I get it. But it’s tough when she twirls into my thoughts every day.”

Michael ruffled his shoulders and began to hum and send vibrations through Zag’s legs.

“You thinking of her now?”

There was a pause.

Zag said, “Who?”

Chapter 2

Zag

 “Emma, you want a cup of tea? Got some Gunpowder Green.”

She stepped in behind him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. She kissed him on the neck. “Let’s play scrabble.”

He spun round and their lips danced together. He could feel her heart pounding against his. He closed his eyes inhaling the flowery scent in her hair, nibbled at her neck.

They sat at the table, scrabble board set up.

Emma set her word onto the board: Quicken. Played it off his word: Tangle.

Tea kettle whistled. Emma strolled down the hallway, her long hair shining in the moonlight pouring in through the window. She disappeared into the kitchen.

Sirens wailed from somewhere outside.

Zag stirred in his seat, but he could not get up. Something was holding him down. He looked to see his feet shackled to the chair legs.

Julius, perched on a wooden branch of a Japanese maple, took flight and flew in through the open window and landed on the window sill.

“Hola ‘migo,” said Julius. Julius was a dwarf dragon.

“Hey there. Did you hear that siren?”

Julius began pruning his purple-green scaled belly, wrapped his tail around his talons. “I did.”

“What’s the emergency? Ambulances out there?”

“Not that kind a siren, pendejo. It was Shellbee, the siren of the Wood.”

“Oh, man. She’s at it again?”

Julius began muttering something else in Spanish.

“Come on, man. In English. I’m not bilingual.”

“Try and stay present, friend.”

“Doing the best I can. But since I died, well, living in this spectral frame’s a bit of a challenge.”

“Learning curve’s something you can handle, amigo.”

Zag closed his eyes.

A buzzing sound flitted through the air. Sounded like Shellbee wooing someone in the woods again.

Zag woke him. He rolled over in bed, mulling over the dream.

Julius was sleeping atop the sofa, a red-embered fire glowing in the fireplace, tail wrapped around his scaly frame.

A tapping came to the door.

Michael was invited inside and offered a cup of tea.

Zag went on to describe his dream in detail.

“And here’s the thing: If I am dead, why am I dreaming? Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to dream about Emma. It has happened a lot since I died. But why am I stuck here, in this body, if I’m dead.”

“It’s not your time to transition. But you carry a gift of past-life remembrance. And you’re just learning how to catalogue all these memories. You have a job to complete. That’s why I’m here. Your liaison. It has more to do with your sister than Emma.”

“Emma. Tell me about Emma.”

“It’s for you to discover. It’s part of your soul contract. That’s all I can say for now.” He glanced to his gold pocket watch. I must be off. Toodle-oo.”

Before Zag could even open his mouth, Michael was gone.

Zag sat on the sofa.

“Well, Julius. What do you make of all that?”

“How ‘bout you cook up some pork tortilla soup.”

“You’re always hungry.”

Zag sipped on his tea and heard a feminine voice whispering in his ear. He turned, wondering if his imagination was playing games with him.

“You’re still alive, my sweet cantaloupe. Even if you’re dead.”

Sounded like Emma.

Was he dreaming again?

There she stood, dressed in a flowing gown of purple, yellow frockcoat, tawny boots, and spinning an umbrella in her hand. Her long white gloves shimmered like starlight. “If you want to reunite with me, you’ll need to save your sister.”

“What’s the matter with Zig? She alright?”

“Hurry. Zag. Hurry.”

 “Hurry? Haven’t hurried anywhere since my body began to fail me years back.”

Julius appeared in front of his nose, hovering, wings going at hummingbird-speed. He whacked Zag in the head with the tip of his leathery tail.

“Use your core strength before your sister is sent to cadaver central.”

Zag hobbled to a standing position.

“What’re you doing?” said Julius.

“I’m going to find Zig.”

“Sit your butt down, pendejo. Use your core essence.”

Those words from Julius made something click for Zag. He sat down, closed his eyes, and meditated on Zig. Within several minutes, might have been longer, Zig was uncertain how much time passed as he drifted into the safe haven of meditation.

Zig? Can you hear me? Zig? It’s your brother. Trying to reach you psychically. Where you at?

There was a gentle tapping at his third eye. Zig smiled; kept his eyes closed, seated in a pretzel position. Body swaying. Waves of energy rolled through him; shoulders and arms began to shiver with warmth. Felt silvery inside. Was his sister trying to respond?

Wow. Exciting!

Zag continued to focus on each inhalation and exhalation.

A voice spoke in his head: I’m sorry but your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try your call again.

What? Hello? This is Zag Saunders. Trying to reach my sister.

The same voice responded in his head: Sir, your call cannot be completed as dialed. This is Ophelia Jones, psychic switchboard operator of Akashic Records Warehouse. Can I help you?

Hi. I’m trying to reach my sister. Think she’s in trouble.

Sir. Please state your name and the last four digits of your social security number.

He gave her this information. But he really wanted to flip her off for making him go through this charade.

Your account has not been activated, sir. Would you like to activate it?

Does Satan steal souls? ‘Course I do.

Sir, in order to activate your account, I’ll need some information. This call is being recorded. Can you give me the address of your temporary residency at Akashic Records?

Akashic Records? I don’t live there. Live in Nevada City.

Mr. Saunders. There’s no Nevada City address here. Can you give me your secret password?

Don’t have a password.

He felt Julius land on his shoulder and purr, “Tell her: Winnie the Pooh.”

Uh….Winnie the Pooh.

Thank you sir. Now, for further security, can you verify your death date?

Earth Day. April 22, 1990.

Thank you sir.

The line seemed to go dead.

Hello? Operator? You there?

Hi there. Who’s this?

The voice did not sound like the operator. Zag replied: This is Zag Saunders. I’ve been trying to reach my sister.

Zag? This is Zig. Need your help.

She informed Zig that she was arrested for illicit energy travel and she needed to be bailed out.

Zig caught an Uber and made it to the police station. Got her released.

Zig, in tears, explained, on the cab ride home, that she had been set up. She did not even know what illicit energy travel meant.

At home, Michael was there wearing his signature grin.

“Bravo, my friends of Earth. You’ve done it. Both of you are safe now.”

“Safe?” Zig wiped her nose with a tissue.

“Don’t worry your sweet heart. All charges have been dropped. He hugged them both.

 They chatted on the back deck for over an hour.

“Heaven has unique ways of handling situations. But understand this: you two will be working your magic. Here on Earth, for many years to come.”

Zag stood up and performed a few deep-knee bends. “Look at this? I can move. No pain in my legs.” He pushed open the screen door and danced around the yard, waving his arms in the air and shouting with excitement.

The following day Zig and Zag both received letters in the mail confirmed their acceptance as Health care workers at Akashic Healing Arts. They were to pack their bags and relocate to Earth Too, a planet in the fourth dimension, locate at 117 Bradbury Lane.