The Afterlife of Holly Chase

  Like Steph had seen in me, I could see the good inside of Ethan. All of the bad habits and apathy and coldheartedness he sometimes showed came from hurt, and I knew that he could overcome that hurt, he could change, he could live his life in a different way and be happy in it, if only he had the chance.

  I loved him. But if he failed, I’d be the one responsible for damning him to hell. If he failed now, I would have taken away his chance. Steph was right. Being a Ghost wasn’t really being alive. If he died today, Ethan would become a shadow. Like me.

  What kind of love was that?

  But even if I wanted to fix it, what could I do about it now? Now it was too late to get it all back on track. The damage was done. Ethan was playing out the final scene as I sat there with my Chinese food. I spotted the little wrapped fortune cookie on my desk. Sugar sounded good—time to eat my feelings. I unwrapped it, broke it open, and fished out the little slip of paper.

  My fortune read, It’s never too late to become what one could have been.

  I stood up. I grabbed my Hoodie from the hook on the back of the door and put it on.

  I knew what I had to do.

  Even if it was going to cost me everything.

  TWENTY-SIX

  INVISIBLE, I RAN ALL THE way to the Time Tunnel, praying with every step that it wasn’t all over, that I wasn’t too late. No matter what my fortune cookie said, there would be a time when it was too late. But when I got there, I saw on the monitors that Ethan and Blackpool were still at the mortuary.

  Thank God.

  The tunnel was open in preparation for their return journey. I ran down it as fast as I could possibly go.

  In the back room of the mortuary, Ethan was standing at the foot of a metal table, staring down at a body that was covered up with a sheet.

  His body.

  Blackpool was lurking a few feet behind him, letting him soak in the horror of it all, but I knew that in a minute he’d pull the sheet away so Ethan could see his own lifeless face. Then the mortuary guys would come in and put the body into the oven, and Ethan would watch himself burn.

  That was how the script went, anyway.

  Still breathing hard from my run, I took off my hood.

  Blackpool turned to look at me. I couldn’t see his face because of his own hood, but he didn’t seem surprised to see me there. But then it was Blackpool’s job to know the future. It was impossible to rattle Blackpool’s cage.

  “Can I talk to him for a minute?” I rasped. “I really need to talk to him.”

  Blackpool nodded and stepped back to give us space. Which I appreciated more than I was ever able to tell him.

  “Hi,” I said to Ethan as I came up beside him.

  He didn’t look surprised to see me, either. He kept staring at the figure on the steel table. Something jerked in his throat.

  “So this isn’t real?” He smiled, relieved, because he’d been almost convinced that this horrible scene before him was possible. But now he was sure I was going to tell him it was all a prank.

  I swallowed hard. The Go Room was undoubtedly in full freak-out mode now, seeing me here. I wasn’t wearing the costume. Clearly I was here as Holly, and not Havisham. Not the Lamp. Me.

  “It is real,” I told Ethan. “It’s your real future.”

  He shook his head. “It can’t be—” He turned to look at me. “You’re scamming me, right? All along, since the very first day I met you, you’ve been scamming me . . .” He bent his head.

  “I wasn’t scamming you,” I said. “I was lying to you, but I wasn’t trying to get anything like that. I just wanted to be with you.”

  He looked up and met my eyes, his eyebrows drawn together, totally confused. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  I glanced up at one of the cameras. “I’m sorry. I have to tell him. It’s the only way. And you know what Boz always says: ‘There is nothing so strong or safe in an emergency of life as the simple truth.’” I turned back to Ethan. “Here’s the truth, as simply as I can give it to you. There’s a company here in New York that tries to save one person every year. One person who has gone astray in life. One person who, if they would turn themselves around, could make a big difference in the world. And this year that one person is you.”

  Ethan closed his eyes and kneaded his forehead like he had a massive headache. “A company? What company?”

  “It’s been around for almost two hundred years. I work for them. It’s my job to be the Ghost of Christmas Past, to show you the things about your past that made you into who and what you are, so that you finally see yourself clearly and decide to become something else. That’s my job, but . . .” I bit my lip and lowered my head, so ashamed that I couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. “This year, when I saw you, I . . . I just felt drawn to you like I hadn’t with the other Scrooges.” I sighed. “So I went to meet you, and then things just kind of spun out of control from there. That’s why I always had to sneak around, why we couldn’t go back to my place, why I didn’t call you. This isn’t going to make any sense to you, I know, but that’s it. That’s the truth.”

  “Tori,” he started.

  “My name isn’t Victoria Scott. I made that up, because I wasn’t supposed to meet you face-to-face until tonight. My name is Holly. Holly Chase.”

  He still looked skeptical. “Wasn’t Holly Chase some famous person?” he asked.

  I almost laughed, and I almost cried. After all these years, walking around this city without a soul recognizing me, now he’d heard of me?

  “I wish I could explain everything, but I can’t. Not right now. There’s no time. You just need to know that this whole thing tonight is real. It’s not a dream, or a prank, or someone trying to scam you. It’s real, and it’s your life. Trust me, I know. I was a Scrooge once, too. Just like you. Only I’m worse than you, obviously. Way worse. I may come in a pretty package, but I’m, like, rotten inside. Pretty much everything I’ve done, I’ve done for selfish reasons. I didn’t believe it when this was happening to me, either, by the way. The company tried to show me. They tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. So I missed my chance. And then I died.”

  I glanced down at the body on the steel table. Even under the sheet I could recognize Ethan’s swimmer’s shoulders and the shape of his face. My eyes flooded with tears. “You don’t have to die. Not today. All you have to do is choose a different path. Choose to be different. Choose love instead of hate or disdain or apathy or whatever. You can do it, Ethan. I know you can.”

  Behind us, at the back of the room, Blackpool pushed back his hood. He had the strangest look on his face, an expression I didn’t know what to make of—not anger, like I’d expected, not disgust or condemnation. It was more like solemn acceptance.

  “Give her one more minute,” he said softly. “Please.”

  He wasn’t talking to me.

  Then he nodded. One more minute. I had one more minute.

  I was shaking again. Terrified about what was to come. Would it be like the first time, when Blackpool put his arms around me and then I stopped being able to feel? Would it be blackness and nothingness again, or worse—would I have to travel in chains? Or be caged somewhere and left to burn? Would it hurt?

  I had to keep my focus on Ethan, I told myself. He was what was important.

  “Tori . . . or Holly, or whoever.” His hand in mine was trembling, too. “What’s going to happen now?”

  I put my hand on his arm. “That’s up to you. Be brave, Ethan, and decide to be different, and everything will change. I promise.”

  I could tell by his expression that he believed me, and I was so relieved my knees felt weak. “Will you try?” I asked.

  He swallowed hard, and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. I don’t understand it all, but I’ll try. What about you? Are you going to be okay?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “This is about you. I am so, so sorry I didn’t see that before. I’m sorry, Ethan.”

  “Holly.” Blackpoo
l cleared his throat. He sounded more like his irritable self. “Boz says I have to take him home now. Say good-bye.”

  A tear burned its way down my cheek. I wiped it. Nodded. “All right.” On impulse I reached out and hugged Ethan tightly for a few seconds. “Bye,” I whispered against his ear. “Be good.”

  Then Blackpool led him away. They stepped through the door and disappeared. Gone. Just like that. I’d said good-bye to him for good this time. I waited for a few minutes, crying and shivering, and then I went back, too.

  To face my fate.

  The halls of Project Scrooge were full of people as I made my way to Boz’s office. The first person I saw was Tox, her eyes red, clutching a tissue that she was sniffling into. It was so unlike her that it made me feel even more unsettled. Everyone was staring at me, totally silent, and I could tell some of the others had been crying, too, and some of them were angry—gazing at me with accusation in their faces like I’d done something terrible.

  I felt like I was going to the firing squad.

  Boz’s office door was closed, but somehow I knew he was in there. Waiting.

  I knocked.

  “Come in.”

  I slipped inside and shut the door behind me.

  Boz was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, his dark hair sticking out between his fingers. I couldn’t see his face. I thought he would tell me to sit down, because that’s what he always told me, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there until I thought I would go crazy and start screaming. Finally, he straightened up and looked at me. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out immediately.

  “I know.”

  “Did Ethan . . . ?”

  “He’s sleeping now. We’ll see what happens when he wakes up.”

  “He’ll change,” I said. “I know he will. I know him.”

  “Oh, Holly,” Boz sighed. “What am I going to do with you? I don’t even know what to say about this. I’m speechless.”

  My breath froze in my chest. He wasn’t talking about a slap on the wrist. I’d blown everything. I’d compromised the Project. I’d ruined his Christmas.

  My chin lifted. “Whatever you need to do, Boz. I’ll take it.”

  He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it and straightened his tie. “You should go home. We’ll sort this out later. I think it would be better for everyone if you weren’t around right now.”

  “But Ethan—” I protested.

  “—is not your concern anymore.”

  My eyes filled with tears again. Who knew that a well-preserved zombie could cry so much?

  “Leave the sweatshirt of invisibility here,” he said as I moved numbly toward the door.

  I took off the Hoodie and draped it over the back of the red leather armchair. I went out. The halls were empty again. Everyone had gone back to the Go Room to see Ethan’s big finish.

  I’m right about him, I told myself. He’d change. Then this would have all been worth it.

  I ran into Dave by the dressing rooms. His beard had returned to brown again. He smiled at me. “That took courage,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

  “You were always so nice to me. Thank you,” I choked out, and then went into my dressing room before I totally lost it and started bawling my eyes out right there in the hall.

  It was quiet on my way out of the building. I walked the halls alone. Rode the elevator to the main floor alone. The doorman didn’t even glance up at me as I pushed out of the rotating glass doors and onto the snow-covered street. A white Christmas. It was early morning, and the street was empty.

  It must be close to 6:56, I thought. Ethan was probably just now waking up in his apartment. He wasn’t anywhere near Broadway. He wasn’t going to be hit by a car. He was going to live.

  I smiled. I walked across the street in my shirt and jeans—no coat, because before I’d had my Hoodie. But I wasn’t cold. It was snowing in big beautiful flakes. I lifted my head and looked up as it drifted down around me. I put out my hand, and a flake landed in it, and then as I watched, it melted away. Here and then gone. Somewhere in the distance I could hear music. A Christmas carol, I thought. I strained to hear it. I closed my eyes and listened. I got a flash of a memory—my own memory, my mother—standing in a red coat on the steps of a church with a little candle stuck in a paper cup in her hand, smiling in a peaceful way as the music rolled over us. She reached and smoothed her hand down the back of my hair.

  Silent night.

  Holy night.

  All is calm.

  All is bright.

  “Holly!”

  I opened my eyes. Steph was standing just outside of the Project Scrooge building on Broadway, panting like she’d been running. “Holly, wait! Don’t go yet!”

  Maybe she knows about what happened with Ethan, I thought. Maybe she’d tell me. And I was so glad to see her—my friend, my only friend now, if she was still willing to be my friend—that I stepped off the sidewalk to cross over to her. I didn’t look. I stepped right into the path of a taxicab that was rushing down Broadway.

  I heard brakes, a scream.

  I was lying down somehow. Snowflakes were landing on my cheeks. Faces moved over me. Steph’s face. I thought she might have been holding my hand.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Holly,” she said. “Don’t die.”

  “Silly,” I murmured. “I’m already dead.”

  I felt dizzy, the way I did sometimes when my body reset. Lighter. Like I wasn’t made of meat and bone anymore, but was completely spirit now.

  Like I could float away.

  And then everything went white.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I WOKE WITH A JOLT, choking for air. It was dark again. I sat up. I was in a bed—but not my bed, not the lumpy twin mattress I’d been sleeping on for the past six years. This was at least a queen. Soft. The sheets felt smooth and cool against my skin. I was wearing silk, which was weird. I didn’t own a pair of silk pajamas.

  I swung my legs to the side of the bed and looked around. There was a lamp on the bedside table. I turned it on. Light flared, and it hurt my eyes. But when I could see again, I gasped. Which was understandable.

  I was in my room. Not my room in my walk-up apartment, but my room from before, in the house in Malibu. There was a familiar white vanity against one wall. I stumbled over to it and sat down in front of the oval-shaped mirror. My own eyes looked back at me—brown and wide and a little freaked out. What had just happened? I thought I’d . . . died. Again. Hit by a car. Again. Which hardly seemed fair.

  Still, here I was, in my old room. I leaned forward to look at my face.

  The pimple—the one that had been hanging out just below my mouth for six long years—was gone. I couldn’t stop staring at that little expanse of smooth skin. It was gone.

  I could hear the hush of the ocean outside. My window was open, and my curtains were fluttering slightly. I could just make out the black outline of the palm tree near my window, swaying in the breeze against a peach-colored sky. The air was warm and sweet with the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass. The sun was coming up.

  Something chimed. A phone on the bedside table. I grabbed it. It was 9:00 a.m., on the dot, December 25. Sixty-eight degrees in Malibu, and sunny. I’d gone back somehow, to my own Christmas. The morning after I’d been the Scrooge, six years ago.

  I was home. I’d been given another chance.

  Somewhere in the house someone was whistling a Christmas song. I gasped again. Elena. “Elena!” I screamed. “Elena!”

  She came running—she must have thought I was being murdered or something, the way I’d screamed her name. “Miss?”

  I threw my arms around her. “Oh my God, Elena! You’re here!”

  “Yes . . . I’m here.” She was totally stiff as I hugged her. I pulled back.

  “You shouldn’t be here! It’s Christmas! You should be with your daughter! Nika! Nika—oh my God. You should be with Nika. Right now. You should be
with her all week. Take two weeks. Take until February first, if you want. I can handle myself for a month. What’s important is that you should be with your family.”

  “So I’m fired,” she assumed.

  “No! You’re not fired! I was a total jerk before, is what I’m saying. I should never have asked you to work on Christmas. You’re the best housekeeper, like, seriously, and I should have appreciated you. God, your cooking is amazing, did you know that? I’ve been dreaming about your cooking for six years. Hey, maybe you could go get Nika, and come back here, and we could roast a turkey for Christmas.” I finally looked at her shocked face. “No. This isn’t about me. No turkey for me. You should have the day off, though. Be with your daughter. We’ll sort the rest out later.”

  I walked Elena out. She was still looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Which I was pretty sure I had. “I’ll talk to my dad about giving you a Christmas bonus. And a raise. Because you’re the best, like I said. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you.”

  “All right,” she said numbly, like she was expecting people with cameras to pop out any second.

  I hugged her again. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hug, like, everyone. “Merry Christmas, Elena.”

  “Merry Christmas, miss.”

  I’d also just remembered there was risotto in the fridge. Which I wanted to be wolfing down, like, now. I went back to the kitchen and heated it up. It was as amazing as I’d remembered. I was at the kitchen counter shoveling it into my mouth in big spoonfuls when I got a text. From my dad.

  You up yet? Can I call you?

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin. My fingers trembled as I responded.

  Yes. I’m awake.

  I was so very awake. I could feel my heart beating fast and the air going shakily in and out of my lungs, and my neck was stiff, like I’d been sleeping in the wrong position, and my stomach hurt, because I’d eaten the risotto way too fast. But pain had never felt so good. It meant I was alive. I kept telling myself that this was real—it must be real, but it was hard to get my head around it. I was really home.

  The phone rang. I picked it up on the first ring.