Haunted Page 7

  “That must wait. I need time to … to come to terms with everything you have said. Do not try to find me. When I am ready, I will come back.”

  There was nothing for it but to let him go. When my mom died, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and blot out the world. Contact with people was a physical strain, and time seemed to stretch like elastic, turning each minute into a lifetime. Alex had three deaths to come to terms with, four if he included his own, and as much as I wanted to help him through it, I knew he was better off alone.

  I watched him walk away. I had no idea where he planned to go. I was pretty sure he didn’t know either. But he’d said he would return when he was ready and I just had to trust him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I made my way out of the theatre and back into the dazzling sunshine. When black splotches appeared in front of my eyes I realised I hadn’t eaten properly in hours. My vivid dream hadn’t left me with much of an appetite this morning.

  It was already ten minutes into my science class and the decision to ditch it came easily. It wasn’t like me, but then again I didn’t really know what was “like me” these days. Who was Chloe Kennedy? A few months ago I would have given a definitive answer. Now, I was a work in progress and nothing was certain. It felt strangely liberating to admit that to myself. Too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours to pretend anything was normal, and it was a relief not to try. There were ghosts in my car, ghosts in my bedroom and ghosts in my dreams.

  I immediately felt bad for lumping Alex in with the other strange happenings. He wasn’t some fleeting apparition; we were part of one another. His presence here only reinforced my certainty about that, and sooner or later he would remember it too.

  Despite how crazy everything seemed, I would always choose to have Alex in my life, even if he still thought of me as a stranger right now. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, and I knew that not so long ago he did everything in his power to protect me against Isobel’s vengeful spirit. Now it was my turn to look out for him, even if I hadn’t quite figured out how.

  I found myself wishing I could consult Mavis and May, the paranormal investigators from Baton Rouge who’d helped me out at Grange Hall. They’d written down their contact details for me, but somehow I’d lost the scrap of paper in transit. Perhaps I could ask Grandma Fee for their email address and see if they had any suggestions for curing post-mortem amnesia.

  I didn’t feel like heading home to eat in an empty house, so I drove to a diner to get myself a burger and fries. My plan was to keep busy until Alex resurfaced. Hopefully he’d come back with a plan, or at least a theory about what was going on.

  I checked my phone to find a barrage of messages from Sam and Natalie. I knew they were only worried about me, but at the same time they’d never understood my need to be alone sometimes. I decided to ignore them for now and slipped my phone back into my bag.

  Once I’d lingered as long as possible at the diner, I went back to my car and spent the next few hours aimlessly cruising the hills. I eventually ended up on Mulholland Drive, sitting on a ledge overlooking the valley. I thought about nothing and everything at the same time. Or perhaps I thought about everything for so long and with so much intensity that it broke down into nothing.

  By the time I noticed the time, the sky was already streaked with fire and the city lights were beginning to glow. Dusk was the prettiest time in Los Angeles. The sky transformed into a watercolour painting, the peaches and cream light of the sun merging into cotton-candy pink and then bold purple. The shifting colours framed the silhouettes of the trees. I didn’t want to leave, but it would soon be night and I wasn’t keen on the idea of driving around these winding roads in the dark.

  When I finally reached home, it was well after five and I wasn’t surprised to see Sam’s convertible parked in the driveway. I should’ve known my friends wouldn’t be so easy to shake off. They knew me too well to not sense that something was up. But I was in no mood right now to fend off their questions and laugh along at their jokes. I didn’t want to appear rude, but what I had to deal with was not something that could be explained. And in some ways it was safer to keep them in the dark.

  “Oh my God, where have you been all day?” Natalie blurted the second I walked into the kitchen. “We looked everywhere for you.”

  “Where’s my dad?” I asked quickly. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing,” Sam replied indignantly. “He’s not home yet.”

  “Good. Don’t say anything. I don’t want him to worry — not that there’s anything to worry about.”

  “So why weren’t you at school?”

  “How did you guys get in?”

  “The front door was unlocked. Jeez, Chloe, what is your problem? We’re your best friends. Or have you forgotten that?”

  They both folded their arms, waiting for an apology I didn’t feel I owed them. It was clear I didn’t feel like talking, but they weren’t willing to accept that. I was starting to squirm, feeling like a specimen under a microscope being examined by two clumsy teenagers. Thank God my brother walked in when he did.

  “Rory!” I said. “There you are! Come and say hello.”

  “Hey.” He gave Sam and Natalie an awkward wave and looked at me like I must have lost my mind. When had I ever invited him into my social life?

  Ever since turning thirteen, he’d become increasingly self-conscious in the presence of girls, especially pretty ones. He barely used to notice them before, but I guessed my goofy kid brother was growing up.

  “Hey, muppet,” Sam said, affectionately tousling his hair. The nickname was from years ago, when Rory’s curls were so long they’d completely obscured his vision.

  Natalie joined in, giving him a hug and inadvertently pushing his cheek against her chest. “You’re getting so tall! I can’t believe we haven’t seen you since you got back.”

  Rory turned bright red and grinned sheepishly.

  “We were going to stop by last night, but someone didn’t answer her phone,” Sam said.

  “That’s because she was with her new boyfriend,” Rory chimed in helpfully.

  And that’s why you don’t hang out with thirteen-year-olds: they either don’t say anything at all or they say way too much.

  I shot my brother a warning glance, but it was too late. Sam and Natalie were staring at me, their perfect features twisted in expressions of shock and betrayal.

  “What are you talking about?” I scoffed. “I don’t have a boyfriend. You’re not funny, Rory.”

  “Nice try,” Sam said. “You’ve been holding out on us!”

  “Tell us everything.” Natalie settled comfortably against the kitchen counter.

  “There’s nothing to tell. I was just helping out a friend.”

  “Fine. Be cryptic then.” She tossed her head. “Rory will tell us.”

  My brother looked hesitantly from her to me, but one flutter of Natalie’s doe eyelashes and he folded like a cheap suit. “He’s that English kid with the long hair,” he blurted. I could practically see him clocking up brownie points in his head.

  My laugh couldn’t have sounded more forced. “And how would you know? You didn’t even meet him.”

  “Dad told me.” Rory had to know I was going to kill him later, but he was too busy lapping up the attention to care right now. “He said you guys went upstairs and then —”

  “Don’t you have homework to do?”

  “It’s all done.” He grinned at me broadly. Having gained the attention of my friends, he wasn’t about to relinquish it easily.

  “Well, you better find more,” I growled. “Before I tell Dad to check the search history on your computer.”

  That did the trick. Rory’s eyes went wide and he edged out of the room.

  I turned back to my friends.

  “So you and the new guy, huh?” Natalie poked me in the side with all the maturity of a seventh grader. “Interesting. What is it they say about still waters?”

  “No,” I said, darting out of her reach. “Rory doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Why all the secrecy then? What happened upstairs, hmmm?”

  “Nothing happened.” I was impatient now. “If you must know, my night couldn’t have been more boring. He left early and I spent all evening reading up on Shakespearean sonnets. Happy?”

  Natalie shuddered. “That’s worse than boring.”

  “So really … nothing happened?” Sam sighed, her disappointment evident.

  I shook my head firmly. “Really.”

  “Did he at least ask you out? Was this supposed to be a first date or more of an impromptu hangout?”

  “Of course it wasn’t a date,” Natalie cut in. “Dates involve dinner and candlelight.”

  “That’s true. So what exactly did he say when —”

  “Would you just drop it?” I snapped, and they both went silent, blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry, but it’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  The girls exchanged looks.

  “Why are you in such a bad mood lately?” Sam asked. “Are you PMSing?”

  “Look, I have a lot of work to catch up on,” I said. “I’ll see you guys at school, alright?” I was already shepherding them into the hall.

  “So you’ll be there tomorrow?”

  “With bells on.”

  “But we thought —”

  “Okay, great, talk soon!”

  I practically kicked them out, shut the door and put on the safety latch for good measure. I’d never felt so disconnected from my friends. Before my mom died, I used to consult them about pretty much everything. But back then I didn’t know what a real problem was. Now I had a big one, and I was painfully aware that if I asked anybody for advice, they’d have nothing but disbelief to offer.

  “Rory?” I called, and his face appeared from the den looking guilty as sin. “Well, thank you for that awesome display of loyalty. It’s good to know I can always rely on my family.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whined. “I just wanted them to like me! And Natalie is super persuasive.”

  “You mean her breasts are persuasive.”

  “What? I wasn’t looking at her —”

  “Spare me! Breasts are dangerous things, little brother. Try not to give all your worldly possessions to the first girl who shows you a pair.”

  He hung his head, embarrassed. “I feel bad.”

  “So you should. My life isn’t a soap opera and you shouldn’t treat it that way. There are some things I prefer to keep to myself. I wouldn’t have done that to you, would I?”

  “No,” he said dejectedly. “Are you gonna tell Dad?”

  “That depends. Have you learned your lesson?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded vigorously.

  “Then I won’t tell him. But only because I’m a loyal sister.”

  He charged at me and wrapped his skinny arms around my waist. “Thank you! I’ll never do it again.” He looked up at me. “I think I understand how you feel now.”

  “You do?” I felt a little spark of pride for imparting some older-sibling wisdom.

  “Sure,” said Rory matter-of-factly. “You’re mad because you love him.”

  By eight o’clock Dad still hadn’t shown up, so I threw two containers of frozen mac and cheese in the microwave. It wasn’t the healthiest dinner, but I was too tired for anything more complicated. After taking one in to Rory, I went upstairs to my room. It was a bit depressing to eat alone, cross-legged on the bed. But not as depressing as the silent dinner table.

  Besides, I was still feeling shaken by my brother’s surprising astuteness. You love him. You love him. You love him. The words bounced around my brain. I didn’t know why they bothered me so much. Maybe because I knew it was true?

  I was reluctant to admit it, even to myself, because that would make it too real. And then all the very real problems associated with loving Alexander Reade would rear their heads. I would have to ask myself how it was possible to love a ghost and that wasn’t a question I was ready to answer.

  I opened my laptop to find several emails from disgruntled teachers demanding an explanation for my absence. Each one had an attachment of the material and homework I’d missed that day. I knew I should look at them, I knew how important senior year was in terms of my future prospects, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to care.

  “Life will teach you more than school ever can” — that’s what my mom used to say. “Years of law school won’t give you the same rush as riding through Spain in the summertime on the back of a motorcycle.” Dad would usually jump in at that point to clarify that Rory and I should go to college first and then proceed to bike around as many European countries as we liked.

  It was funny how so much could change in such a short space of time. I was the girl who wanted to get into Cornell. I had no intention of betraying my West Coast roots and moving to New York, but I wanted to get in just to prove I could. At the back of my mind I’d always thought I’d go to Stanford, but at this rate I was heading for community college. I might as well start dropping off resumés at Applebee’s. How had my life become such a mess? It felt like all the building blocks I’d put in place over the years had crumbled to rubble at my feet. And I wasn’t even concerned about it.

  I slid down on my bed, leaning back on a mountain of pillows. The conversation with Alex had left me physically and emotionally drained. Telling him the truth was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I didn’t doubt for a second that I’d made the right decision, but in breaking his heart I’d also broken my own. I wished I could be with him now. I wished I could help ease what must be a terrible grief. Mortal struggles were meant to come to an end in death, but death had not brought Alex any peace.

  Waiting for his return was making me incredibly anxious. I wished I could go back to Grange Hall, back to the beginning when all we’d had to contend with was one vengeful spirit. Isobel’s wrath was almost easier to handle than the tangled situation we now faced. How was I going to keep Alex both safe and in my life?

  I instinctively reached for Grandma Fee’s brooch, squeezing it in my hand and letting the sharp petals dig into my flesh. As had happened last time, I soon felt my eyelids grow heavy as a strange lethargy crept through my body.

  I opened my palm and studied the brooch. It seemed to wink at me; a shining reminder of a time long gone. Already everything was blurring at the edges. I could have shoved the brooch into the back of a drawer and opened one of the emails from my teachers, but I didn’t. I wanted to go where I knew the brooch would take me.

  I am conscious of my steps through the gathering dusk, afraid of stumbling even though I have been sent on this errand a hundred times before. Thunder rumbles overhead and the skies are threatening. I pray the rain will hold off just a while longer. Once it starts, the path will grow slippery with mud and I am sure to fall, dirtying my dress and scraping my knees.

  The golden lights of the alehouse glow up ahead. When I reach the door I hesitate to enter, even though no one bats an eye upon seeing me any more. This place has become my father’s refuge, the place he favours over the company of his own family. I think seeing our hopeful, hungry faces every day reminds him too much of his shortcomings.

  I love my father and always will, but he is not a man built for hard labour. He is a dangerous mix of charm and recklessness. He used to work as a tanner in the village until he gave it up to follow a fool’s dream. Now he is a magician. Perhaps in London he might find work entertaining the upper classes, but his card and disappearing tricks are not so well received in Wistings. After a few ales, folk are content to watch but they will not part with more than a few pennies. The night wears on, the audience disperses and my father drinks himself into oblivion. When the last patron has staggered off home, he will still be there.

  Mother has sent me to fetch him home before the storm. I am expecting a struggle, but he welcomes me cheerfully, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

  “Becky!” he cries. “My little duckling. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to take you home.”

  “You’ve come for me? You’re an angel! Isn’t she an angel, Fernley?” He turns to the barkeeper, who nods and throws me a sympathetic glance. “Do I have time for one more pint?”

  “No, Papa,” I say. “It’s getting late and it will be pouring rain any minute. We must go now.”

  “In that case, let us make haste!” he declares, losing his balance a little as he climbs off the stool.

  Together we stagger home, weaving along the cobbled alleyways. I pray nobody will see us. I am tired of pretending not to notice their pitying looks.

  As we near home, my father’s legs grow leaden and he leans against me more heavily. I may be slight, but it is remarkable the strength one finds when one has no other choice.

  Mother greets us at the door of our cottage and together we lug my father inside, just managing to get him to the bed. His eyes are shut before his head hits the pillow and he lets out a belch that reeks of liquor.

  Mother looks down at him in despair, then shakes her head and returns to mending by the firelight. I watch her from the doorway. Her face is haggard with worry, her hands are calloused from hard work. I wish I could do more to ease her burden. The reason I can read and write is because my mother is an educated woman who once worked as a governess for a lord in London. But that was long ago, well before she met my father. She does not like to talk of those days, and tells me it is my job to go out into the world to make a decent life for myself.

  Before I go to bed, she beckons me over and takes my face in her rough but familiar hands. “You are a blessing, Becky, my dear. What would I do without you?”

  “You will never have to find out,” I tell her.

  I know Mother has high hopes for me. She says I have a sharp mind and must not be afraid to use it. I know the names of the ancient philosophers, and that the stars are made of dust. But I am a plain girl from a poor family. My chances of marrying well are not high, but that does not matter to me. I would rather have knowledge than a husband, and I do not care much for expensive trinkets or pretty dresses.