PART THREE
The streets of San Francisco should have looked different, she thought, now that she was dead. They didn't though. It was nothing like the movies. She couldn't walk through walls, and though she could move things, it seemed like others just didn't notice. She'd tried to attracts attention to herself once, grabbing a couple oranges from a cart and waiting for the vender to yell thief, juggling the fruits to see if anyone would see the oranges flying in thin air. No one said anything. The day continued as though everything was the same.
It wasn't, though. Ming-hua rounded a corner to run smack into a middle aged man walking quick quickly. The man recovered and moved on as if nothing had happened.
"Sorry about him luv." Ming-hua looked at the speaker and screamed. "Hey, hey, don't be like that!" he said, stepping back.
"You... you... Oh my God!" The man was hideous. His face was gouged by a huge slit, one eye a bloody mess. His body was covered with ugly, festering wounds.
"Please," he said. She heard the emotion in his voice and paused as she was about to flee. "I may be ugly, but it wasn't my fault."
"What... happened?" she stammered.
"He killed me," the man said, motioning ahead, "the one who ran into you." She drew together her courage and raised her eyes to look at him again. She tried to look beyond the wounds to his face, though she felt like she was going to vomit. He was young, maybe 25 or so, and dark skinned.
"What's your name?"
"Miguel," he said. "You have no idea how nice it is to talk to someone. It's been way too long. A lot of the others stay away from me."
"Because... um," she motioned to his body.
"Not so much." He was silent, apparently not wanting to go on. "You haven't been one of us long, huh?" She shook her head. "How did you go?"
"I'm not really sure. I think I died in a dream." Miguel chewed on a fingernail.
"Hmm... I died 24 years ago. In a couple years I'll be dead longer than I was alive." He giggled. "Wouldn't that be funny?" She shrugged.
"I suppose. So you're haunting the guy who killed you?" The ghost nodded, and she had to turn her head, for when he moved his neck the wound there opened and she could see his spine. "My name's Ming-hua. I'm trying to figure out what happened to me."
"Well, some of the others have been talking. They don't talk to me, but I hear things." He leaned a little closer to her like a conspirator. "They say Death has been blocked, and that some people who die aren't passing on. Normal ones. Not like me. I'll haunt that bastard until he dies. But maybe that's what happened to you." She scratched her head.
"What should I do?" He shrugged.
"Whatever you want. You'll get used to hanging around after a while, maybe find some old building to knock around in."
"I don't want to hang around!" she cried. "I want to be dead if I'm dead or alive if I'm alive." He smiled condescendingly at her and patted her shoulder.
"Wait a while. You haven't been dead long. And Death will figure things out soon. She always does." She glanced around at the people passing them by.
"Why don't they see us?" To demonstrate, she grabbed at a passing woman's coat. The woman pulled herself free and walked off at though nothing had happened.
"They don't want to," Miguel said. "The only ones who can see us are the ones personally involved, and even then, it's funny. Speaking of which, I should go. I think he knows when I'm gone. I know he can tell when I'm there." With a nasty grin that showed several missing teeth, the ghost faded off into the crowd. "I'll be seeing you, luv!" She shivered. Not if I can help it, she thought. Standing on the street corner she wondered again what she was going to do. A dog barked at her and she laughed, and thought, so the old saying about animals seeing spirits is true. I can't really be dead! Can I?
One thing she knew though, and that was she was not going to sit around and wait. That wouldn't be like Liao Ming-hua. Her father, Liao Ming-hoa, rest his spirit, had taught her never to sit and take her destiny, but to seize life with both hands. She had to laugh though, even as she thought of his solemn, oft repeated words. She wasn't seizing life at all, but rather death.
She returned to her home, her mind wandering as she walked, and when she looked up at the front of their apartment building she realized she'd made an hour's walk in less than 10 minutes. Well, stranger things have happened, she thought. She entered the house and found her daughter sitting besides her sleeping husband.
"Daughter-in-law," she said, "I need you to tell me something." The woman smiled.
"Of course."
"I need you to tell me if I can dream." The old woman closed her eyes.
"I don't know. I haven't dreamed since I died. We don't have to sleep." Ming-hua thought for a time.
"I need to get to the place where I died. I think I can find my answers there."
"And what answers are you seeking child? You haven't even accepted your death yet." She thought about that for a while.
"I can't just sit here though," she said finally.
"And what makes you think the Dreaming is a place you can just go to?" Ming-hua smiled.
"But you just said as much, didn't you. The Dreaming." She played with the name in her head. "I died there. I'm connected to it, somehow. I know I can go there, and find my answers." Her grandmother narrowed her eyes, and took her grandchild's hand urgently.
"The Dreaming is not a gentle place child," she said, something like fear in her voice. "Spirits go there and don't come back. We're not like the others anymore. There are fates worse than being trapped on Earth." Ming- hua pulled her hand away.
"Will you tell me how to get there?" Her grandmother shook her head. Ming- hua leaned forward and gave the old woman a kiss. "I won't be coming back this time." Her grandmother smiled.
"This house is always open to you."
"I won't be back. Goodbye."
She wandered back into the streets of San Francisco, but this time she knew what she was looking for. She sought out every ghost, poltergeist, and spirit in the city she had lived in since birth, asking each one if he or she knew how to travel to the Dreaming. Some refused to say anything. Some didn't know. She spoke to specters, wraiths and a spook that seemed to be haunting Pier 13. That spook, a young woman who might have been a lifeguard once, knew a ghost on the east side who had bragged about traveling to the Dreaming and returning, so Ming-hua, remarkably not tired, headed that way. She found the ghost in question with very little trouble, but was somewhat shocked to discover that she was the ghost of a cat.
"And why couldn't there be talking ghost cats?" the cat asked in a rough, but oddly sweet voice. Ming-hua sighed.
"This is still rather new to me. You're the first ghost animal I've met since I died." The cat seemed pleased.
"See, you're much better than the rest of you dead humans. Can't admit their gone and dead, can they? Have to refer to themselves as 'us' and the living as 'them' instead of fessing up to reality."
"But if they did that, they wouldn't be ghosts anymore, would they," she asked somewhat timidly. The ghost cat laughed, or at least Ming-hua thought it was a laugh.
"You're right about that. So you want to travel to the Dreaming do you?"
"How did you know?"
"Oh, we cats hear things, whether we're dead or alive or somewhere in- between. Not many ghosts want to go to the Dreaming. Nasty place, that."
"Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Yes. But why do you want to go there. No one goes there and comes back. Except me. I did it. But I don't think you'd like it at all. No."
"Please." The cat purred, whether in pleasure or resignation Ming-hua couldn't tell.
"Fine. There's a door that will take you there." She stared in surprise.
"That's it? A door?" The cat made a slight meowing noise.
"There are doorways to everywhere, you know. Cats know many of them. Are you ready?"
"There's one thing I need to do first. How will I find you again?"
"I will be here. The door is not far." Ming-hua nodded her thanks, and headed off. She walked to a wealthier neighborhood, to a house set somewhat up in the hills. It was night when she arrived, and she decided to test her ability to walk through walls. It felt something like walking through a waterfall, she decided, only without the wetness.
The young Asian child slept in a crib in his adopted parents' room. He was nearly two years old, and healthily chubby, sleeping with a fist in his mouth and a smile on his face. Ming-hua wanted to pick him up, but was afraid.
"I love you little one," she whispered. "I hope you know that. I hope your parents tell you how much we loved you, and why we had to give you up. I hope they teach you to be proud of where you come from." She sniffed back tears, not knowing if she would ever see her grandchild again. The pain became too much and she closed her eyes, wishing she were back on the east side. When she opened her eyes, she was, and this didn't surprise her at all.
"Did you do what you needed to do?" the cat asked. She nodded. "Then come on." Ming-hua followed the cat through the neighborhood, becoming instinctively worried as they entered a slum. She pulled her clothing tighter about her and glanced from side to side at the people they passed. Then she realized what she was doing, and laughed out loud. Who was going to hurt her? She was dead. No one could see her. Somehow she was saddened, though also relieved. The cat stopped at the door to a bookstore, its windows lined with bars. "This is it," she said.
"The doorway is in here?"
"No, this is the doorway." Ming-hua frowned and shook her head.
"I don't believe it. This is just a ratty old bookstore."
"And I'm just a dead talking cat." The cat might have laughed, but Ming- hua couldn't tell. She jumped up onto a fence and with only a quick glance backwards and a flick of her tail was gone. Ming-hua gazed uneasily at the door. A woman exited the store and looked around for a moment, then walked to a bus stop. Horns blared as a young boy dashed across the crosswalk during a red light.
Ming-hua sighed and reached for the doorknob. Her hand passed right through and began tingling. With a cry she pulled her hand away and looked at it. It felt like she'd been given a shot of Novocain. This was no ordinary door. Gathering her courage, wondering what she was diving blind into, she closed her eyes and lunged through the door.
The streets of San Francisco should have looked different, she thought, now that she was dead. They didn't though. It was nothing like the movies. She couldn't walk through walls, and though she could move things, it seemed like others just didn't notice. She'd tried to attracts attention to herself once, grabbing a couple oranges from a cart and waiting for the vender to yell thief, juggling the fruits to see if anyone would see the oranges flying in thin air. No one said anything. The day continued as though everything was the same.
It wasn't, though. Ming-hua rounded a corner to run smack into a middle aged man walking quick quickly. The man recovered and moved on as if nothing had happened.
"Sorry about him luv." Ming-hua looked at the speaker and screamed. "Hey, hey, don't be like that!" he said, stepping back.
"You... you... Oh my God!" The man was hideous. His face was gouged by a huge slit, one eye a bloody mess. His body was covered with ugly, festering wounds.
"Please," he said. She heard the emotion in his voice and paused as she was about to flee. "I may be ugly, but it wasn't my fault."
"What... happened?" she stammered.
"He killed me," the man said, motioning ahead, "the one who ran into you." She drew together her courage and raised her eyes to look at him again. She tried to look beyond the wounds to his face, though she felt like she was going to vomit. He was young, maybe 25 or so, and dark skinned.
"What's your name?"
"Miguel," he said. "You have no idea how nice it is to talk to someone. It's been way too long. A lot of the others stay away from me."
"Because... um," she motioned to his body.
"Not so much." He was silent, apparently not wanting to go on. "You haven't been one of us long, huh?" She shook her head. "How did you go?"
"I'm not really sure. I think I died in a dream." Miguel chewed on a fingernail.
"Hmm... I died 24 years ago. In a couple years I'll be dead longer than I was alive." He giggled. "Wouldn't that be funny?" She shrugged.
"I suppose. So you're haunting the guy who killed you?" The ghost nodded, and she had to turn her head, for when he moved his neck the wound there opened and she could see his spine. "My name's Ming-hua. I'm trying to figure out what happened to me."
"Well, some of the others have been talking. They don't talk to me, but I hear things." He leaned a little closer to her like a conspirator. "They say Death has been blocked, and that some people who die aren't passing on. Normal ones. Not like me. I'll haunt that bastard until he dies. But maybe that's what happened to you." She scratched her head.
"What should I do?" He shrugged.
"Whatever you want. You'll get used to hanging around after a while, maybe find some old building to knock around in."
"I don't want to hang around!" she cried. "I want to be dead if I'm dead or alive if I'm alive." He smiled condescendingly at her and patted her shoulder.
"Wait a while. You haven't been dead long. And Death will figure things out soon. She always does." She glanced around at the people passing them by.
"Why don't they see us?" To demonstrate, she grabbed at a passing woman's coat. The woman pulled herself free and walked off at though nothing had happened.
"They don't want to," Miguel said. "The only ones who can see us are the ones personally involved, and even then, it's funny. Speaking of which, I should go. I think he knows when I'm gone. I know he can tell when I'm there." With a nasty grin that showed several missing teeth, the ghost faded off into the crowd. "I'll be seeing you, luv!" She shivered. Not if I can help it, she thought. Standing on the street corner she wondered again what she was going to do. A dog barked at her and she laughed, and thought, so the old saying about animals seeing spirits is true. I can't really be dead! Can I?
One thing she knew though, and that was she was not going to sit around and wait. That wouldn't be like Liao Ming-hua. Her father, Liao Ming-hoa, rest his spirit, had taught her never to sit and take her destiny, but to seize life with both hands. She had to laugh though, even as she thought of his solemn, oft repeated words. She wasn't seizing life at all, but rather death.
She returned to her home, her mind wandering as she walked, and when she looked up at the front of their apartment building she realized she'd made an hour's walk in less than 10 minutes. Well, stranger things have happened, she thought. She entered the house and found her daughter sitting besides her sleeping husband.
"Daughter-in-law," she said, "I need you to tell me something." The woman smiled.
"Of course."
"I need you to tell me if I can dream." The old woman closed her eyes.
"I don't know. I haven't dreamed since I died. We don't have to sleep." Ming-hua thought for a time.
"I need to get to the place where I died. I think I can find my answers there."
"And what answers are you seeking child? You haven't even accepted your death yet." She thought about that for a while.
"I can't just sit here though," she said finally.
"And what makes you think the Dreaming is a place you can just go to?" Ming-hua smiled.
"But you just said as much, didn't you. The Dreaming." She played with the name in her head. "I died there. I'm connected to it, somehow. I know I can go there, and find my answers." Her grandmother narrowed her eyes, and took her grandchild's hand urgently.
"The Dreaming is not a gentle place child," she said, something like fear in her voice. "Spirits go there and don't come back. We're not like the others anymore. There are fates worse than being trapped on Earth." Ming- hua pulled her hand away.
"Will you tell me how to get there?" Her grandmother shook her head. Ming- hua leaned forward and gave the old woman a kiss. "I won't be coming back this time." Her grandmother smiled.
"This house is always open to you."
"I won't be back. Goodbye."
She wandered back into the streets of San Francisco, but this time she knew what she was looking for. She sought out every ghost, poltergeist, and spirit in the city she had lived in since birth, asking each one if he or she knew how to travel to the Dreaming. Some refused to say anything. Some didn't know. She spoke to specters, wraiths and a spook that seemed to be haunting Pier 13. That spook, a young woman who might have been a lifeguard once, knew a ghost on the east side who had bragged about traveling to the Dreaming and returning, so Ming-hua, remarkably not tired, headed that way. She found the ghost in question with very little trouble, but was somewhat shocked to discover that she was the ghost of a cat.
"And why couldn't there be talking ghost cats?" the cat asked in a rough, but oddly sweet voice. Ming-hua sighed.
"This is still rather new to me. You're the first ghost animal I've met since I died." The cat seemed pleased.
"See, you're much better than the rest of you dead humans. Can't admit their gone and dead, can they? Have to refer to themselves as 'us' and the living as 'them' instead of fessing up to reality."
"But if they did that, they wouldn't be ghosts anymore, would they," she asked somewhat timidly. The ghost cat laughed, or at least Ming-hua thought it was a laugh.
"You're right about that. So you want to travel to the Dreaming do you?"
"How did you know?"
"Oh, we cats hear things, whether we're dead or alive or somewhere in- between. Not many ghosts want to go to the Dreaming. Nasty place, that."
"Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Yes. But why do you want to go there. No one goes there and comes back. Except me. I did it. But I don't think you'd like it at all. No."
"Please." The cat purred, whether in pleasure or resignation Ming-hua couldn't tell.
"Fine. There's a door that will take you there." She stared in surprise.
"That's it? A door?" The cat made a slight meowing noise.
"There are doorways to everywhere, you know. Cats know many of them. Are you ready?"
"There's one thing I need to do first. How will I find you again?"
"I will be here. The door is not far." Ming-hua nodded her thanks, and headed off. She walked to a wealthier neighborhood, to a house set somewhat up in the hills. It was night when she arrived, and she decided to test her ability to walk through walls. It felt something like walking through a waterfall, she decided, only without the wetness.
The young Asian child slept in a crib in his adopted parents' room. He was nearly two years old, and healthily chubby, sleeping with a fist in his mouth and a smile on his face. Ming-hua wanted to pick him up, but was afraid.
"I love you little one," she whispered. "I hope you know that. I hope your parents tell you how much we loved you, and why we had to give you up. I hope they teach you to be proud of where you come from." She sniffed back tears, not knowing if she would ever see her grandchild again. The pain became too much and she closed her eyes, wishing she were back on the east side. When she opened her eyes, she was, and this didn't surprise her at all.
"Did you do what you needed to do?" the cat asked. She nodded. "Then come on." Ming-hua followed the cat through the neighborhood, becoming instinctively worried as they entered a slum. She pulled her clothing tighter about her and glanced from side to side at the people they passed. Then she realized what she was doing, and laughed out loud. Who was going to hurt her? She was dead. No one could see her. Somehow she was saddened, though also relieved. The cat stopped at the door to a bookstore, its windows lined with bars. "This is it," she said.
"The doorway is in here?"
"No, this is the doorway." Ming-hua frowned and shook her head.
"I don't believe it. This is just a ratty old bookstore."
"And I'm just a dead talking cat." The cat might have laughed, but Ming- hua couldn't tell. She jumped up onto a fence and with only a quick glance backwards and a flick of her tail was gone. Ming-hua gazed uneasily at the door. A woman exited the store and looked around for a moment, then walked to a bus stop. Horns blared as a young boy dashed across the crosswalk during a red light.
Ming-hua sighed and reached for the doorknob. Her hand passed right through and began tingling. With a cry she pulled her hand away and looked at it. It felt like she'd been given a shot of Novocain. This was no ordinary door. Gathering her courage, wondering what she was diving blind into, she closed her eyes and lunged through the door.