Free Just Kill Me by Adam Selzer Page B

spring break, I heard those sounds again. Even though the apartment has been empty for months, since Mrs. Weyher died. Maybe I was hearing some sort of psychic echo of her getting it on. I guess I could get behind that sort of ghost.
    Go, ghost of Mrs. Weyher, go.

    From there on, I relax a bit. Disney villains have saved my ass. I never do finish the Mary story, but Rick lets me tell some of the Hull House story myself, and then a bit about H. H. Holmes at the body dump.
    There’s a little parking area and a “senior living” apartment complex on the site of the old garage where the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre happened. The old people don’t like buses to stop there, so it’s usually just a drive-by, but tonight Cyn slows the bus to a stop as Rick finishes the story.
    â€œOkay,” Rick says. “Remember what I was saying earlier about psychic imprints?”
    We all nod.
    â€œWell, there’s supposedly one right here at the massacre site. There was a German Shepherd named Highball whowas tied to the axle of one of the trucks in the garage during the massacre. Even though he wasn’t shot, he was apparently so scared that he left some sort of energy behind. For years, people said that dogs would freak out if they walked by this fence. Wanna try an experiment, since we have a dog with us tonight?”
    The woman with the dog gets up and takes it outside to see what happens. The dog hops through the fence, trots right over to the spot where Rick said the bodies fell, and poops.
    â€œWell, there you have it,” says Rick. “It scared the shit out of the dog.”
    We all have a good laugh, the dog runs straight back to the woman, and the tour goes on.

    The tips are good, and Rick and Cyn cut me in, even though I barely did anything.
    â€œTotal props for that Cruella joke,” says Rick. “That was really thinking on your feet.”
    â€œI was screwing up the story before,” I say. “I don’t even know what I would have done if she hadn’t shown up.”
    â€œNo worries. You proved you can handle stuff as it comes up, and that’s huge. And if we get any reviews from tonight they’ll be good. So you’re in the clear.”
    I take a deep breath and resolve not to check Yelp or whatever. I never read reviews of the fan fic I post online. I did once, and it took me weeks to get over the bad comments. I hadn’tstopped to think that I could get reviews of tours, too. But I don’t have to read them, I guess.
    â€œHey,” says Cyn. “Weird night to have all that psychic-imprint stuff come up, huh?”
    â€œI know, right?” says Rick. “It’s like there’s something in the air. Cosmic.”
    They both look right at me, grinning like they’re about to let me through a door into a surprise party.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I ask.
    â€œYour initiation,” says Cyn. “One. Of. Us. One. Of. Us.”
    Rick switches to a more serious tone. “Megan, do you support assisted suicide for chronic patients?”
    I nod. “Of course.”
    â€œAll right,” he says. “Let’s head up to the north side, then. We’re gonna see if we can create our own psychic imprint, and you get to help.”

Chapter Seven
    Y ou, uh, aren’t going to kill me, right?” I ask.
    Rick laughs. “Nah,” he says. “You’re not an elderly chronic patient. People would ask questions if you died. Too much trouble, besides the ethical stuff.”
    â€œThey’d probably assume Zoey did it, though,” says Cyn, as she loops the bus around onto Dearborn Street and heads north. “Tell her about the brain punch, Ricardo.”
    â€œRight,” Rick says. “The brain punch.”
    â€œBrain punch?” I ask.
    â€œBrain punch. It’s a Marjorie Kay Stone thing.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œDid you ever stop to wonder why we knew so much about her and her