Page 44 of Justice & Liberty

“That doesn’t seem right. Even if there is a single correct religion, that means that the vast majority of people aren’t in it, either now or throughout history. Any god that made most people with no intention of letting them get into his afterlife club is kind of a shitty god, don’t you think?”

He considered, then nodded, but he didn’t actually seem convinced I was right, just that my point was valid. It reminded me of college, the debates I’d had with my classmates, and...maybe it was callous of me, since we weretalking about his existence, but it was...fun. I had always loved that part of philosophy. And besides, in the end, we were talking about everyone’s existence, mine included. I just wasn’t in the same part of it as he was.

He had none of my moral quandary, and continued on without hesitation. “On the other hand, you’re assuming if there’s one true religion, it’s a just and fair one. I’m eighteen and dead. How is that just? Kids die of cancer every day. Totally unjust. And you can’t convince me there’s a reason for that.”

“Wouldn’t even try.” I wasn’t in the habit of trying to convince people of things I didn’t believe, after all. So I just shrugged and turned to the sink to get a cup of water to add to the cats’ fountain. “For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think there is one true religion that wouldn’t give an innocent eighteen-year-old a place in their afterlife just because he didn’t know about it when he was alive.”

“Thanks. I like to think not, too. But if there is a heaven, or Elysium or...whatever. Maybe I’m actually there. And this me is just an echo, or, like, a copy on a floppy disk or something. Maybe the real me is receiving his reward or punishment or whatever.”

“I suppose there’s no way to know if you don’t already,” I answered. I got myself a glass and filled it with tea from the fridge, feeling the sting of not being able to offer a guest a drink, but it would have been rude to offer when I couldn’t actually give him a drink. “But the fact that you’re here means we can literally never know, so the only sensible way to proceed is to treat you as though you’re the only you. Besides, even if we knew you weren’t, you’re a person, with human feelings. Aren’t you?”

He actually stopped and thought about it, his eyes darting back and forth, before nodding. “Yes. I...I worried about that last night, because it seems like I’m really chillabout being dead, and you’d think I’d be freaking out, you know?”

Damn. The guy was maybe the most sensible person I’d ever met. I’d thought the same thing, but I wouldn’t have expected him to. He was the one who was dead. “I think I would be freaking out if I were in your shoes, and you’re eighteen. It’s not an age known for lots of calm and consideration.”

“Yeah, except I don’t have a body anymore. No more orders from hormones, you know? So I was thinking about it, and like, I’m still worried about stuff. I was thinking about my girlfriend, Journey, and whether she was okay. She didn’t have anybody else. Her dad was real sick, so she was taking care of him. Then maybe I go and die and leave her totally alone.”

Shit.

That was terrible. I froze, turning to look at him, but not sure how to respond. There wasn’t exactly a condolence card for one’s own death, let alone something as complex as worrying about the people you’d left behind.

He sighed and slumped onto the sofa, and for the first time during the very serious conversation, seemed very much like the teenage boy he was. “Being dead is lame.”

I winced away, frowning, and realized that had actually been a thing they said in the nineties. “Whoa there, cowboy. That’s no longer slang, I’d suggest cutting it out.”

He looked confused a moment, frowning at me. “What? What is? Why?”

“I...you know what lame means, right? Like, having a permanent injury to a leg?”

Again, I got the blank stare.

“Oh come on, you’re smart, you know that. And you wouldn’t use other injuries or disabilities as an insult, would you?” I waved wildly at him, like maybe he was justmisunderstanding that I meant him. Then, I realized the other thing that had been popular slang in the nineties. “Also, I’m a lesbian, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use ‘gay’ as an insult either.”

“Dude,” he whispered, eyes going wide, and for a second I thought he was shocked by the fact that he was sitting across from a lesbian. Then, he breathed out all at once, even though he was a ghost and didn’t actually need to breathe at all. “I never even thought about that. That’s...that’s so shitty. Why did we even say that?”

“Because it was slang. Everyone said it, so you did too.”

He scrunched up his whole face like he’d just bitten into an apple and realized it was made of wax. “My mom would be so ashamed. She used to say that thing, you know? The mom thing.” He affected a slightly higher tone, I assumed mimicking his mother. “If all your friends were jumping off a bridge, would you do that too?”

I chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, my mom said it too. Though honestly, my best friend was more responsible than me, so Mom stopped bothering with it sometime in middle school.”

That distracted him from his deep thoughts, and he laughed.

That was when the knock on the door came, and I froze.

Hunter.

Crap.

23

Dez blinkedat me a couple times, then looked toward the door. “You gonna get that?”

“She’s, um, here with dinner,” I admitted. “I thought you were gone.”

“Oh. Oh shit. Are you on a date?” He hopped up and took a step toward the door, like he wanted to answer it, then paused. “You want me to hide? Does she know you summon ghosts? Or like, would that be bad? Is it against some witch rules or something to summon ghosts? Or for anyone to know you can summon ghosts?”

I held up both hands, but before I could respond, the knock came again. So instead of answering the questions, I headed for the door, deliberately not thinking things through too hard.

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