The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis Page A

thinking?
    Before I make up my mind, Ezra stands and moves toward me. His eyes are bright but everything else about him is dead. He doesn’t move his mouth or make a sound as he falls on me. His hands are reaching out.
    I sink back into the couch and try to stop him, but I can’t hold him off. He grabs at my neck with his bony hands. The sleeves of his sweater are itchy on my chin.
    There’s no way I can scream, so I try to pull my head from side to side. It doesn’t work, and I swing my arms harder. A few times I hit part of Ezra’s face, but he continues to squeeze. He’s stronger than he looks.
    Mom! Dad! I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for not minding my manners. And I’m sorry for going into the woods with Starla. I don’t want to die! God, I’m so sorry. Please don’t let me die!
    The room gets darker, and I can’t make a sound. I reach up one more time to grab anything I can. My thumb lands on the soft part of Ezra’s throat, the place beneath his Adam’s apple, and I press.
    There’s a popping sound. His skin is soft like a wet paper towel. This surprises me because I don’t feel like I pressed that hard.
    Ezra lets go and falls to the floor. His eyes are wide like he can’t believe what happened.
    There are footsteps coming down that hall as I stand and move away from the couch. What have I done? What will I say to Mom and Dad?

In Defense
    November 29th, 1986
    Inside the Driver’s Camaro
    It’s morning and I’m parked in the Camaro, waiting for Jasper outside a brick, three-story structure. It’s how an apartment building might have looked when I was alive. I’m told it’s another waypoint for travelers.
    The street is clear except for a run-down school bus parked at the curb. On either side, there are drab, cookie-cutter bungalows and vacant storefronts without a name. They sit in silence, all devoid of life.
    There’s a numbing quality in the way the sun comes up. With the driver-side window down, I expect it to be accompanied by faint warmth, but I’m fooled. There’s no sensation on my arm. Another reminder that I’m dead…
    Today Jasper and I will cross over into the physical world…it will be my first assignment. He’ll stand nearby in case I need help, and to make sure I actually go through with it. Otherwise, I’m on my own. There won’t be anything between me, the boy, and his murderer.
    The car idles for two minutes before Jasper emerges on the front step, his complexion ruddy. He lumbers down the walk and wedges himself into the car with some effort.
    â€œWhat’s with the bus?” I ask.
    â€œThere was a fellow in much the same predicament as you. He found his ghost yesterday, and left the bus behind. I snagged it because it makes getting around easier.”
    I nod and wait for him to indicate we should begin, to say something full of purpose.
    Instead he turns to me and says, “Are you ready?”
    â€œYeah, I think so.” I put the car in gear and steer away from the curb, disappointed there’s no pep talk. I guess there’s still time for that, between here and where we’ll cross over.
    We’re heading for the fog again. There are pockets of it all over the Territory, and hidden within are a countless number of “sleeves.” These are the windows between the Territory and the physical world. Jasper made me practice going in and out of them; I found it easy after awhile.
    Hoping to ground myself in something familiar, I grip the wheel with both hands. The street is bereft of traffic, and I haven’t seen anyone since arriving in this neighborhood which belongs to someone else.
    The overgrown structures are evidence of other people’s memories. Scenery appears when someone’s been in the Territory for too long and starts to decay if there’s no one around to remember it. It’s unsettling, like I’m wearing someone