Sadie's knees buckled before she moved toward Aanders. She grabbed at the back of a chair. “How do you know that?"

"Tim told me."

Theo looked at Sadie and pointed at Aanders. “Is he dead, too?"

"I'm not dead. I'm alive just like Sadie and Jane and Mr. Bakke,” Aanders said, gesturing as he recited their names.

"Then why can he see us if he's not dead? I thought you said only death coaches can see the dead."

Sinking into the chair, Sadie grabbed Aanders’ hand and pointed toward Tim. “Who's that?"

"My best friend, Tim.” Aanders added, “I can see the other crossers in here, too."

"Oh my dear Lord,” Sadie gasped.

"Would you please clarify this so I can better understand,” Theo said. “You mean this child is a death coach? And he's challenged with the same responsibility you've been given?"

"Oh my Lord,” Sadie said again. “This can't be. It simply can't be."

"What can't be, Sister?"

Moaning in dismay, Sadie said, “I refuse to accept it."

"Accept what?” Jane's voice rose with concern.

"This has got to be a mistake. Aanders can't possibly be the next death coach. Something's wrong."

"I tend to agree. I'm experiencing the same level of skepticism,” Theo said. “A child assisting with decisions of such import? That's ludicrous."

"Aanders is a death coach? What are you talking about?” Jane said.

Music blared from the inner room, causing all heads to turn toward the door. Sadie shouted at Rodney to turn down the volume. When he failed to honor her request, she marched into the inner room, yanked the cord from the wall, and returned with the clock radio. She wrapped the cord around the red plastic before placing it in a drawer.

Rodney shouted from behind the door. “I'll get even with you, witch."

"Not if I get even with you first, you big toad.” Sadie slammed the drawer and reopened it to stuff in the end of the cord.

Mr. Bakke said to Jane, “Let's go out on the porch. I'm confused.” After folding his newspaper, he took Jane by the hand and led her through the door. He looked back over his shoulder before whispering, “Did I hear Sadie say Aanders is a death coach?"

Looking toward the inner room where Rodney's rantings continued to build, Sadie warned Aanders, “You stay away from Rodney. He's one mean crosser and I don't want you anywhere near him. Do you understand?"

"I won't. Not after what Tim told me,” Aanders said. He looked around the room. “I don't want to be anywhere near these people.” His gaze lingered on Theo and the briefcase. “I didn't ask to be a death coach. I'm just a kid."

"You're a loser, too,” emanated from the inner room. “I've seen you moping around like a girl since your buddy died. Get a life, kid. Your friend's dead. Too bad."

Tim rose and walked to the inner room door. “Leave Aanders alone. Leave us all alone. I hate you.” Tim leaned against the wall, sobbing.

Laughter came from behind the door. “You big baby. Now why did you go and hurt my feelings? You ruined my day."

Aanders joined Tim near the door and put his arm around him. “It's ok. I'll stay away from him."

Theo sat erect and pulled his briefcase close to his chest. “Just what we need. Additional conflict. It's hard enough recalling Sadie's instructions without worrying about Rodney."

Sadie joined the boys. “You're not exactly my choice for a death coach, Aanders. I would have preferred someone more mature."

"I'm not going to do it.” Looking at the crossers sitting around the table, Aanders said, “I'm going to pretend I never saw you. Nobody asked if I wanted to be a death coach so I'm not going to do it.” Setting his jaw, he declared, “You're going to have to find someone else."

Sadie shook her head slowly. “You don't have a choice. You've been selected. That's all there is to it."

"You can do it, Aanders. You can learn from Sadie. She knows everything,” Tim said. “She's been doing it a long time and will be a good teacher."

Lora leaned forward. “Tim's right. I trust Sadie. She taught me how to make a death decision. I know what I want, but I have to wait to find someone on the brink before I can complete my journey."

Michael looked up at his mother and then at Sadie before scuffing his shoe against the wooden floor. He hid behind his mother and peeked out at Sadie with concern.

"I've got more years of experience than I care to remember,” Sadie said. “You've got a big job ahead of you, Aanders, but I'll be here to guide you as you learn."

Sadie winked at Michael. It was time to get Michael to admit his true feelings. Every time Lora talked about rejoining her husband, Michael appeared agitated. If she could get him to draw on his inner strength and admit his true feelings, it would give the child a chance to have a say in his death decision. Sadie knew it would be the opposite of his mother's. She also knew she needed to force the subject at the next round table session.

12

Paul Brink's secretary ushered Carl into Paul's office. She placed two folders on the hand-carved mahogany desk before asking Carl if he wanted a fresh cup of coffee.

"How'd you manage to train her to do that? Most secretaries won't offer coffee anymore. That equal rights thing is way overrated,” Carl said.

"No training involved. I hinted at what I liked during the interview and she listened."

"What else did you hint at?” Carl didn't need to ask because he often saw Paul's secretary leave the building after hours. Paul's previous secretary suddenly left his employ after an irate husband stopped by the office and found a locked door.

Paul's penchant for finding voluptuous secretaries chewed at Carl as envy crept back into his thoughts. When they were younger, every time Carl zeroed in on a new conquest, he was bombarded with questions about Paul. Without even trying, Paul fascinated women with his dark, brooding looks and penetrating green eyes, and Carl had to struggle to keep his jealousy at bay. Waiting for the opportunity to provide comfort to Paul's rejects seemed the best way to score.

"None of your damn business, Carl. What happens in this office stays in this office."

"Just like Vegas,” Carl said. He sat on the leather sofa and put one foot up on the coffee table.

Carl knew Paul had dropped a bundle of moola on the furniture in his office. The room contained leather items purchased from a showroom in New York. The furniture was grouped around an ornate area rug, imported from Italy, sitting under a heavy iron and glass coffee table. A mahogany desk finished out the room's grand design.

"Get your foot off the table. You'll scratch the glass.” Paul batted at Carl's boot.

Carl stretched his leg further over the table, placing his foot on a magazine. He pulled it over with the weight of his heel. “Satisfied?"

"I said put your foot on the floor."

"You're not threatening the future sheriff, are you?"

"Believe me Carl, your manners won't improve when you win the election. If it takes a threat to keep your feet on the floor, then that's what I'll do."

Carl slapped his thigh. “Now that's what I like to hear. You said when I'm elected, not if I'm elected."

"I don't know why you want the headache of being elected. It's a lot more responsibility."

"It's double the salary, too. I'm not like you,” Carl said. “I didn't come into a lot of money over the past five years."

Paul tapped his temple. “I used my brain. I picked the right deal.” He cast an accusing glance toward Carl. “Kind of like the way you're taking advantage of Judge Kimmer's passion. I had coffee with Kimmer this morning. He droned on and on and on about fishing. The worst part was I couldn't talk that cheapskate into a new investment.” Paul lifted a letter opener and ran his index finger over the sharp tip. “A whole half-hour listening to that crap. He talked about this piece of tackle and that piece of tackle. Like I care. Every time I tried to change the subject, he'd butt in and start all over again."