Dead and Hating It

Chapter 1 Kurt sat cross-legged on his bed, thinking about the man he once believed had loved him. The man who was responsible for him being dead and a ghost. Kurt knew how he’d died—by drowning. Not exactly the way he’d have chosen, given his druthers. If he had to be murdered, he thought he’d rather have been shot, or poisoned. Something quick and relatively painless. Drowning took time and he’d felt every second of his life being drained away. In fact, he’d fought it, thrashing, trying to find something, anything, to grab onto, to pull himself free from George’s hold so he could get to the surface. It hadn’t happened and soon the need to breathe became unbearable. He’d inhaled, but only water filled his lungs and he quickly lost consciousness—and died. Instantly, or so it seemed, he was on the riverbank, looking at his body where it lay on the rocks at the bottom of the river. Why am I here if I’m dead? He had the feeling he knew. He’d read stories about ghosts and how they couldn’t move on if there was still unfinished business. Like proving George murdered me. How the hell can I do that? His body hadn’t been found until a few days later. At least that’s how long he thought it had been from its condition, when it had finally floated to the surface of the river. That wasn’t something I needed to see, when those guys pulled my body ashore. It looked like fish had fed on me, and I was bloated and…He shuddered, trying to push the memory away. He was there when it happened. The two guys who had found him didn’t know he was standing right beside them. One of them immediately called 911. The second guy looked as if he was going to puke, which he did moments later. Kurt jumped back but still got spattered—or would have if the vomit hadn’t gone right through his feet. “You bastard,” he’d spat out, and he didn’t mean the sick guy, who wouldn’t have heard him anyway. He was remembering the day he’d died—and what had happened that led up to his murder.