Nord wakes up to find himself sort of dead. Well, that is to say, he's dead, alright -- murdered, in fact -- but not in heaven, at least not yet. In this limbo-like state, he meets Max and learns that everyone there is waiting for the final poof, hopefully to a better place. Only, with unfinished business back in the real world, like bringing his murderer to justice, Nord's poof is nowhere in sight. So he and Max set out to find the killer and make things right again. Of course, that's easier said than done when you're nothing more than a couple of randy spirits.
With the help of Voltan, a diminutive mystic with a predilection for turbans, and Clark, a nerdy computer geek eager to shed his loner past, plus a ghost accountant Bruce, Bruce's drag queen brother Eve O'Destruction, and Nord's kick-ass mom, the newly enamored pair set out to hunt for the murderer, and are quick to discover how much they'd taken for granted when they were alive.
In this hysterically funny and often poignant mystery about fate and love and family, it ultimately takes dying for our heroes to have the times of their lives.
He laughed in that supremely nice way of his. Where had he been all my life? And, yes, the irony of that had not been lost on me. He then fiddled with my dick with his free hand. I followed suit with his. It felt nice, though that was more likely because our souls were touching. Which is to say, nothing shifted, rose, pulsed, gushed, spewed. "No blood, Nord. Nothing to fill it with."
I shook my head. "Nope. This place is great, but not perfect. What if the poof is perfect?"
He seemed to think this over. Eventually, his sea of blue locked into my puddles of brown. "Just think of a place, Nord. It has to be a place you frequented, that you had ties to. There seems to be a connection made in life that tethers you in death. Work, home, family, you can link to them if you choose to." The smile had returned, but quivered. "Where were you last?"
I'd been at my desk, at work. I could still see the screen in my head, then the ceiling that wasn't a ceiling. Maybe there had been a fire, some sort of explosion. How does someone die at work, someone so young, someone in the picture of health? People suddenly died of aneurisms, like I'd thought before. That must've been it.
"I was working," I replied. "Why do you think I can feel your hand in mine, your hand on my dick?"
His laugh returned. "You make odd segues, Nord."
I laughed. It was weird to laugh given that I had just sort of died. "My head is full of questions. I want to ask them all at once."
"Yeah, been there, died that." He squeezed my hand in his. "The body stained the soul. The soul knows of feelings, sensations. Those feelings seem to be mimicked here. It's not the same but a close facsimile. Just as nice, either way. Just as real-feeling even when we know it's not."
"I can see your body, can feel it." I touched his chest, ran my fingers through the matting of hair, but there was no heartbeat. It wasn't real. I was grateful for the facsimile, but how long would that gratefulness last? "Let's go, Max."
He nodded, and we were suddenly back at my office. It had been around lunchtime when I was still alive, best I could recall, and now it was dark outside. Inside was another matter entirely. Every light was on. The place was full of people. None of them were my coworkers. All of them were either cops or paramedics. There was a bag on the floor by my desk, body-sized, black as coal.
"Fuck," I said.
He pointed at my desk, at the carpet. "Blood, Nord."
Lots of blood. Too much blood. I didn't have a stomach anymore; still, I felt queasy. Rest in peace, my ass. Did people bleed from an aneurism? My computer was still on. I floated closer in. It wasn't what I had been looking at. It was an old report. Why had someone pulled it up? Of course, the better question was, "Why did someone kill me?"
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