There’s no secret handshake
5 hours ago
"I pushed as hard as I could, not caring at the moment if the movement tore my neck, just wanting him off. My hands were at an awkward angle on his shoulders and my strength was no match for his, but something about the action seemed to get through. He stopped." - Embrace the Night by Karen Chance
"I opened my eyes and I had become the only offspring of Chicago's Prince of the Damned." - A Hunger Like Fire by Greg Stolze (A World of Darkness, Vampire: The Requim novel)
My quiet slip into death differed greatly from my bloody, squalling entrance into life. Not that I remembered much of either journey, just my arrival at the destination. I glanced at my hand, as substantial as it had been a while ago, yet here I stood by my abandoned body slumped over the desk.
Thunder crashed. The fluorescent bulb in the Tiffany lamp by my body's elbow flickered, then the room plunged into darkness. Lightning flashed with a strobe-like effect over the cancer-whittled husk I gladly left behind. The slim voice recorder slipped from its hand and skimmed across the polished walnut desktop until it bumped to a stop against the apple-green laptop. Still recording, the readout on the front LCD flashed the time.
A meaningless scale when eternity stretched before me.
Perhaps I should leave some message for my adopted son David, urging him not to give up our quest to find definitive proof of ghosts. Of course, an electronic voice recording of me should do the trick.
The words of encouragement remained elusive. I smiled for the first time since my wife died. Dead a mere twenty-three seconds, and I already had the answer to something that had bothered me since I began my mission seventeen months ago. The dead rarely spoke because there was nothing to say.
And yet there was so much to tell.