John never believed me when I said I always knew when he got up for work. He thought that I could not tell the difference between him and an empty bed. Because he's a total dunderhead sometimes! I could always tell. I told him that when I touched him there was this tingle or buzzing inside of me. It would run through me and I always felt more . . . solid. That, like, did not happen with other people. I hugged Karen and nothing. I poked that Vic guy and there was nothing like it. John had looked up a bunch of stuff and tried to explain it but I do not think it really matters. Like, it just is. We don't need to explain every little thing about ghosts. But my little nerd totally disagrees. Still, I always knew when he was not next to me. When I did not have my arms around him. Even in the deepest of sleeps, I would always notice the difference. My dreams would change. Everything gets a little darker. I become a little more sluggish.

I really wish I had a job. Karen was sometimes busy and I did not have that much to do. I can't act out things. I mean, I totally can, but it's not the same. No director, no other actors, no one to play off of. I can't really draw or paint, like my Johnny-poo. I don't like video games and watching things all day just gets so boring. And John doesn't even have cable! Who doesn't have cable? He has Netflix or whatever, but like, that's not the same. I can't just channel flip until something looks interesting. I had spent a lot of time home, lately. John was scared that if I went out in my body again, I might collapse again. But I could not just stay trapped here forever. I had started reading a lot. Mostly the news. The world was . . . Different. Well, maybe. I wasn't into the news when I was alive. It always seemed so . . . totally depressing. Everyone was always hurting each other and people kept dying and that's just such a downer. But now I did not have anything better to do. I could not help but read the Entertainment News a lot. It was always my life goal to be an actress. That is when I saw her name.

Clara. Clara Henrykson. It can't be the same person. It's just not possible. I told myself over and over again. I scrolled down on the article and there was a picture of her. She had changed. Like, It has been twenty years. When she . . . When she killed me, she had short, dark hair and wore really dark makeup. The classic theater nerd look. She was short but wiry and strong. She had grown her hair out for whatever photo-shoot this was. I Googled her and found her Wikipedia article. It mentioned that she did a brief stint in prison for manslaughter, but got out early for good behavior. After that, she moved to New York, did a couple of small plays, and was cast as an extra in a movie. She became a breakout star after one of the bloopers went viral where she just kept making the cast laugh and break character. From there, she was cast as the funny girl, the badass, and so much more. Her filmography was impressive. She had been in fifteen films, even being the lead. People compared her to Sigourney Weaver. I . . . I was supposed to be compared to Weaver. I was supposed to be in movies and plays. And she . . . She killed me. She was just allowed to be an actress out there after killing me!

“How is that fair!?” I cried, throwing my phone. The lights all around me dimmed and the table shook. The couch vibrated. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down. I felt tears stream down my face. I . . . I needed to talk to someone. I picked up my phone and looked at it. There . . . I only have two people to talk to. John and Karen. I guess I could try and reach out to Vic or Sara, but . . . They don't know me. I sat there and stared at the screen. It had not cracked or shattered from my fit. An ethereal tear fell on the black rectangle and I wiped it away. I opened the phone and looked at my four contacts. John was at work . . . And I did not know how he would react to this. I tapped on the last text from Karen and typed something out.

Kare-Bear

You: Hey . . . When you have a moment, could you call me? I . . . need to talk to someone.

It was less than five minutes later when Karen called me. “Hey, girl. What's up?”

“I told you about how I died, right?” I asked, somberly.

“Yeah, some girl gave you a smoothie and you died shitti- . . . Uh, you died from an allergic reaction, right?”

“I went into anaphylactic shock. I never actually shit myself.”

“Sure,” Karen said. From the sound of her voice, I could tell she was smiling. “I guess that's good. Dying before you ruin your pants.”

“Like, yeah,” I managed, trying to smile myself. “I didn't want to ruin the theater's costume. They'd totally make me buy a new one.”

“Haha, yeah. Couldn't have that.” Karen said, lightly. Oh, I thought. She's trying to keep the mood light. Doesn't want it to be sad. Sorry, Kare-Bear, I think this one's going to be a total downer. She continued on. “What about it?”

“I . . . I found out that the girl . . . Woman, I guess, who killed me is . . . a-an actress!” I said, my voice cracking at the end, as more tears started to slide down my face.

“Oh, Loans, I'm sorry, girl. That's fucked,” Karen said, but after a moment, she asked a question. “Uh . . . Who is it? Anyone I know?”

“Clara Henrykson!” I bawled into the phone. “Sh-she's been on Broadway, Kare! She's been in movies. She's been the lead in movies! Sh-she stole my life! I should be on Broadway! I should be nominated for Best Supporting Actress!”

“Cl-Clara Henrykson?” Karen asked, incredulously. “You were killed by her?”

“Y-yes.” I blubbered, tears leaking down my face and falling to my shirt. I sniffed, trying to get control of myself. “Like, d-d'ya know her?”

“Well . . . kind of,” Karen said, her voice betraying her. She knew her.

“Y-you like her movies?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Y-you know. I didn't know that she killed you. I heard she got out of prison when she was in her teens and I didn't think anything of it. Just one of those things.”

“A-are her movies good?” I asked. My tears were still running, but my voice was a little more stable.

“Uh . . . Yeah, she's really good. She was on my list . . .”

“Your list? What list?”

“She's . . . I have a little crush on her. There's this scene where she's just so . . .” Karen let the sentence hang in the air. I waited for a moment, but she never continued.

“Oh my god!” I managed to laugh. An actual laugh. Not forced at all. “You want to bang the chick who killed me!”

“Wha- no!” Karen retorted. “I mean, not anymore.”

“Liar,” I retorted immediately. “Karen and Clara. Ooh, if you got involved, you could have a cute couple name like KareCla or Claren.”

“Oh god, that's awful,” Karen responded, shaking her head. “Besides, it'd never happen. She's straight . . . Not that I checked or anything. I just . . .”

“Ehh.” I countered.

“Is she not straight?” That got her attention. I think she even pressed the phone closer to her face.

“She dated a couple of girls at school,” I said, trying to keep my voice a little cryptic.

“A couple?” Karen asked. She really did have a thing for Clara. The image of the woman I used to know appeared in my head. She was still Clara. Just more aged. She looked great. I could kind of see it. Not my thing, but she was beautiful.

“Yeah, here and there. Those relationships seemed to last longer than her other ones.” I said, thoughtfully. “With men anyway. I don't know. I never paid attention to who people were dating unless I was the one dating them.”

“Oh.” Karen was struggling to seem casually interested. I could hear her forcing her voice to be steady and calm. It was a lot of fun messing with Karen. But I was still really sad. I never got the chance to have what she had. She had a family. She had kids. She has . . . Everything I've ever wanted. I thought, bitterly. “So, what now?”

“I . . . I don't know.” I said, truthfully. “Want to come over and watch her entire discography with me?”

“I . . . Loans, I don't know if that's a good idea,” Karen said, sounding a little worried.

“Why?” I asked. “I'm going to watch them either way. So, the only way you being around will be a problem is if you can't keep your hand down your pants as you . . . wish she were there doing it for you.”

“Ha-ha!” Karen responded sarcastically. “I don't think it's a good idea to focus on her so much. Watching her movies might . . .”

“Be too much for me? I'm dead, Karen. It's not like there's a fucking thing I could about it now. B-but I have to know.”

“Know what?”

“I-if . . . If she's, like, earned it. If she's really . . . If she deserved it more than I would have.” I said, my voice shrinking down more.

“I . . . Girl, I don't think that's how that works,” Karen said. “You died, it was a tragedy. It was her fault. But that doesn't make her a better or worse actress than you. It's just a thing that happened.”

“Damn it, Karen!” I all but screamed. “She's living my dream! The life I wanted for myself! And . . . And I need to fucking know. I need to see it.”

“O-okay, Lona. I'll come over.” Karen sounded scared and sad. I . . . I should not have yelled at her like that. It was not fair to her, but I could not help it. I was just so mad.

Karen came over an hour or so later and we curled up on the couch together, me in my doll and her next to me. We watched everything we could find she was in. John had shown me how to download movies without paying. I'm totally not paying to my killer's movies. Fuck that. John got home during one of the movies and looked at us cuddling on the couch and then went into our room and did not disturb us for a few hours. Which was kind of a shame. I wanted him with me.

Mostly because Clara was amazing. She was amazing in everything she did and that is just so . . . So . . . True. She had always been amazing. She probably would have been a better Hedda Gabler than I was. I remember seeing her play that. She . . . She replaced me in the play after she killed me. And she was great. But she had evolved so much as an actress. She did a musical and hit every note. I can't do that. She did a comedy and her delivery was impeccable. Her timing was perfect. Could I do that? She did a drama and cried real tears on cue. I always needed the little water droplets to cry on stage. Whenever there was a love scene in one of her movies, it always cut to black. Karen said that Clara had done an interview and said she refused to do love scenes on camera. Refused to get completely naked. The closest we got was a swimsuit scene in some dumb action movie she did. Well, at least I have been naked on camera before. I totally win that one . . . Only that one.

“She's better than me,” I said when we finished. It was late. We had watched ten movies. She had done ten movies, not including cameos and work as an extra. Some of them were bad, but she was never bad in them. “She . . . She was always better than me.”

“Loans, that's not true,” Karen said. “You got the part that she didn't. You both tried out for the same part and you got it!”

“Yeah, but why? She has all of this!” I gesture to the screen. “And she did the play without me! She took that from me, too! And she was amazing at it! I . . . I don't know if I could have done as well!”

Karen tried to comfort me and John came out and did the same when he found out what was going on. Granted, he called her a two-bit actress. Which was just not the case. He . . . I love him but, he doesn't know anything about acting. How hard it is. Eventually, Karen had to go and I was left with John. He cuddled into me and had wisely learned to just keep his mouth shut. He did not know what I needed to hear. I did not know what I needed to hear.

I found out that she was releasing a book and was doing a book signing in town. She would only be here for a day or so. A few hours really. John and I do not live in what I would call a bastion of civilization, but it is big enough to stop off at for a couple of hours to do some promotion and head off to bigger and better places, apparently. I did not tell John or Karen I was going. I can't, I told myself. They wouldn't understand. How could they? They're both . . . They're both alive. They don't have to live knowing their killer is out there succeeding. I just need to see her. Just once. I can't even talk to her. It'll be fine. I wrote her a note, explaining that I was mute, with my name Lona Anderson and asking for her to make it out to me . . . and to Hedda Gabler. I stood in line for hours. It was downtown. John had given me access to his card and some petty cash in case I wanted something. He was mortified when he found out that Karen had bought me a bunch of clothes. He tried to pay her back and she told him, playfully, to fuck off. I guess I'm lucky. I have these wonderful people in my lif- . . . Afterlife. I found a dress in a color that was close to the maroon that was what I was wearing when I died. What she wore when she stole my part. After killing me. I felt the anger build up in my chest. In the chest of my doll. Weirdly, the angrier I got, the easier it was to move in the doll. I felt stronger. I was shaking when I bought the book. I could not keep my hands steady all throughout the hours and hours of waiting. There were a lot of people who were there. Some people with her book. Some with posters. Some with her movies in their hands.

Finally, after an eternity and a half, I was in front of her. She did not look up at me. Her hair was styled in a dark black that framed her face well. She took the book out of my hand and asked me my name. I tried to say something, then I remembered she could not hear me. I signed that I was mute and pointed to the note. She read it and looked up at me.

“That's not fucking funn-” She cut off and just stared at me. All of the color drained from her face. Her dark eyes widened and she gasped. She looked like she saw a ghost. Well . . . You know what I mean. My eyes met hers. It was surreal looking at the girl who I had considered my friend . . . Who I loved like a sister all grown up. I felt tears well up in my eyes, in the doll's eyes. I felt a surge of fresh rage burn through my chest and arms. I felt relief somewhere in my core. All of these emotions swirled inside me like a hurricane. They only intensified when she said “L-Lona.”

I smiled at her. It must have come off as a little menacing because she scooched back a bit in her chair. I took out my phone and she flinched. I typed out a message on my phone and handed it to her.

Hey Killer. Clar. Hah! Klarrer! It looks like you remember me. The girl you killed. Over a part.

She stared at the message then at me. I felt my anger creeping up. The books on her table started levitating a few inches off of the table. Even the table lifted. She looked around, her eyes boggling in fear. I thought about it for a moment. When I was this . . . Enthusiastic, I could affect things. John had noticed it and had wanted to test it, but we could never figure out why it happened. I guess we knew now. I focused on the phone and focused on typing a new message.

I want to talk to you. Alone, but like as a ghost, I can't exactly talk to you. Only through the phone.

“Th-this isn't possible! You're . . . You can't be here!” She cried. Her eyes were all but popping out of her skull. I felt guilty. I gestured to the phone and she looked down. She gulped and nodded. She motioned for someone to come over and when they did, she whispered in his ear and then stood up and motioned for me to follow.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to take a brief break. Miss Henrykson has to do something really quick but we should be back up in . . . Uh . . . A half an hour. We appreciate your patience.” There were a lot of cries of annoyance and impatience from the line, but I had gotten what I wanted. The table and books crashed back down and I made my way behind Clara. We went to a bathroom. Clara checked each of the stalls and saw that no one was there.

“A-a-are you here to . . .” She gulped. “Are you g-going to kill me?”

“No! Of course not! I could never kill . . . You totally can't hear me.” I said, my eyes widened at that and I shook my head. I gestured for my phone. She looked at it and nodded. I typed out a response and handed it to her.

No, I'm not here to kill you. I couldn't kill you. You really believe it's me?

“Y-yeah. There were details of my . . . Of the accident that were never reported. The dress. The play, the . . . Your name. L-Lona?”

I gestured for her to continue. She tackled me and hugged me so tight. “I-I am so sorry! I never meant! I just wanted!”

She was crying. She was bawling her eyes out. Not like she did in the movie we watched. She was a really ugly cryer. Snot bubbles, running makeup, puffy eyes. I was still taller than her. I wrapped my arms around her and patted her back. It was . . . Weird. I felt bad. I was still angry but I could not help but feel for her. I . . . I believed her. I know that may be hard to believe, but I do not think she was acting right now. She was so distraught. And she is a good actress, but I don't think anyone is that good. She looked up at me.

“What . . . What is this body? It feels so . . . weird.” She poked my chest. “And those are . . . Bigger . . . than I remember.”

Oh yeah lol. I'm kinda possessing a sex doll. It's a long story.

“You . . . Lona . . . My God. People around town said that they thought they could sense you sometimes. That you'd be there. How did you . . . Why are you here?”

I moved here with my boyfriend and then I found out you were a big time actress. I . . . Was jealous. I . . . You have everything I ever wanted. And I . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't blame you, but I do. You killed me. And I couldn't stay away.

The lights flickered a bit when I was typing the message and one of the sinks turned on. I took several deep breaths to calm myself down. It was hard not being angry with her. But . . . She didn't mean to kill me. And . . . Jealousy got me killed. So, like, you gotta be careful. That's just proof of that. If I let my jealousy eat away at me I could make a mistake. Just like she did. Someone could get hurt. She took the phone and read the message.

“You have a boyfriend? You're a ghost with a boyfriend? There's dating in the afterlife?” She asked. “How . . . Okay. Ghosts I can believe in, but a ghost dating someone? Is he also a ghost?”

I shook my head and she gaped. “How in the world . . .”

He can see and hear and touch me. And I can touch him. We live together in an apartment downtown.

“Even when you're dead, you're dating someone.” She remarked, shaking her head. Like, what the hell does that mean? I thought to myself. “Sorry, but you've always had . . . a way with people and even when you're dead, you still found someone who liked you. I never had that.”

I raised a brow at that. She was a world-famous actress and had all these people who adored her.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I'm famous and rich or whatever. But they like me for my characters. People like you for . . . who you were. That was part of why I . . . I was so jealous.” She said, staring down at her feet. “I thought that's why you got the part. Not because you deserved it. You were good. But I was better.”

I bristled at that a bit. Even if it's true, she didn't have to say it. “But you were always really good, too. I always wanted to beat you at acting because I wasn't as good with people as you were. Are. Hell, I could never find a . . . A partner after I'm gone. Who would have me if I wasn't Clara Henrykson, celebrity?”

I shook my head and hugged her. I took my phone and typed another message.

People like you for you. I always did. Our friends did. We totally loved you and supported you. Other people do, too!

It was weird trying to comfort my killer, but her words got to me. I could get that. I wasn't as good as she was. People like me, and people liked her, too, but I was always kind of . . . The center of attention. She just wanted a piece of that. And that's understandable. After a little more chatting, she gave me her number and texted me. She apologized again and tried to crush my new body again in a hug. It was weird. I left not knowing how to feel. I took a Lyft back home and collapsed. When I got out of my body, I was almost entirely see-through and I was exhausted. I ended up passing out on the bed and waking up with John holding me. Maybe I have something she doesn't after all. She has fame and such, but she doesn't have John. She's been divorced a few times. Is single now. I'm not. I curled into my Jizzle a little more and tried to get some more rest.