Page 50 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

Chapter Twenty

Baxter

“What was it like being dead?” Lake asked when we were midway through our pub meal at a small pub in Wood Green, both of us having agreed on wanting cheap and cheerful over restaurant food.

I could tell the exact moment he second-guessed the question, the familiar flush invading his face. I’d been worried us having sex might cure him of the habit, so it was reassuring to see it was still a mainstay. Give him a few more seconds of silence and he’d probably launch into something historical as a safety net unless I got in there first.

“You can ask me whatever you want,” I said. I held up a finger. “But that doesn’t mean I have to answer.”

“Right.”

I put my fork down and considered the question, deciding whether I even had an answer. “I’ve never talked about it.” I admitted.

“Okay.”

Lake returned to eating, apparently unfazed by my reluctance. Which made me not want to be that person. As a testament to our new relationship, I’d stayed out of his head as much as I could since we’d returned from Wakefield. It wasn’t easy. Especially at times like this, when the urge to check whether his internal thoughts matched his external body language was like an itch beneath my skin.

“Time was different there,” I said.

“There?”

I hadn’t told him anything, had I? “I wasn’t with Calisto all the time.”

“Where were you the rest of the time?”

“In a place.”

“Heaven?”

I laughed. “No. Definitely not heaven. And not hell either.” I decided not to mention the demons there. There were things Lake didn’t need to know if he wanted to sleep at night. “Calisto called it the inbetween. The best analogy is some kind of waiting room.”

“And time?”

“Moved slower.” The leather seat squeaked as I leaned back. I wasn’t explaining this very well. “Death was…”

Lake stopped eating, his soft brown eyes steady, patient—like whatever I said would be okay.

“It was loneliness. A lack of purpose. Waiting for something without knowing what that something was. But it was also peaceful. It was easy to exist there. No responsibilities. No expectations. I could sit and stare into space all day if I wanted.”

Lake’s expression told me most of that was beyond his comprehension. “Do you miss it?”

The question caught me off guard. “No.” I paused to think about it, surprised by the conclusion I had come to. “Sometimes. Is that weird?”

“Not if it was peaceful,” he said. “Life can be exhausting.”

“It can,” I agreed. “How’s your book coming along?”

He grimaced. “Next question.”

“How come you can talk about history all day long? But when it comes to writing it down, you have problems?”

“Because those are random, unstructured thoughts. Writing requires the opposite.”

“And I’ve distracted you.”

He lifted his beer in a toast, his eyes darkening. “You can distract me all day long.”

“Just during the day?”