Walk of the Spirits

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “That’s good, Mom.”

  “Then afterward I picked up Teeta, and we stopped for a quick bite. We did come by here first, honey, to see if you wanted to eat with us.”

  When Miranda didn’t respond, Mom did a quick appraisal of the books and papers on the bed.

  “So how was your study group?”

  “Fine.”

  “Think you’ll make some new friends?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, it sure feels nice in here now, doesn’t it?” Awkwardly, Mom groped for more small talk. “A lot better than it did before. So I’m assuming the air conditoner got fixed.”

  “It’s a loaner.”

  A long pause followed. Then, “Miranda . . . about our discussion—”

  “Not now, Mom, okay? I really need to get this done.”

  Mom’s relief couldn’t have been more obvious, though a slight frown creased her brow. “That’s fine, honey. Maybe tomorrow, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you have dinner? Aunt Teeta and I are going to sit in the backyard and have ice cream if you—”

  “No thanks.”

  She was glad when Mom left. There was too much to think about, too much to worry about, too much to figure out. The events of today swam crazily through her mind—the kids she’d met, the Ghost Walk they were planning, the eerie voice she’d heard, the Falls, her grandfather, Etienne . . .

  Etienne.

  Etienne, who seemed to know far more about her than she knew about herself . . .

  “He told you you’d hear things.” Etienne’s words haunted her. “He told you you’d see things. Things other people can’t hear or see.”

  “You’re insane, Etienne Boucher. You and Grandpa and everyone else in this stupid town are all completely insane.”

  But what if it were true?

  Because I did hear a voice, and I have heard those screams . . .

  With one angry swipe, Miranda knocked all her books and papers to the floor.

  What if everything Etienne said is true?

  What does that make me?

  10

  THE SCREAMS CAME BACK THAT NIGHT.

  Tossing and turning, Miranda tried to shut them out, to obliterate them once and for all. Only now they were louder— louder than they’d ever been—and the voice was there, too, drifting beneath them . . . muffled yet every bit as clear—

  “No . . . you’re wrong . . .”

  That hollow male voice—he’s young . . . twenty at the most.

  “I swear to you—for the love of God!”

  That raw, hopeless voice—and his throat’s dry, he can taste blood, his lips are cracked . . . he needs water.

  “I’m the one you want . . . only me.”

  Like drowning waves, the voice and the screams flowed over her. Once again Miranda fought them, but they wrapped her in a cold embrace and drew her down into darkness.

  She was lost in that darkness.

  Lost and stumbling in that horrible darkness . . . yet not alone.

  She couldn’t see them, but they were there. Couldn’t find them, couldn’t touch them, but they were real. Real hands clawing and groping . . . real eyes vacant and staring, moving so close around her, just beyond her reach. Pain and shock and grief and rage— she could feel them all, the unbearable essence of them as they whispered the very words her grandfather had spoken . . .

  “You’re the one, Miranda . . . you’re the only one who can—”

  Bolting upright, she gasped for air. The apartment was sweltering hot, her flimsy nightgown completely soaked with sweat. As an unfamilar glow filtered through the darkness, it tinted the shadows red and thickened them into fog.

  A deep, unnatural silence filled the room. Though she strained her eyes, she couldn’t see anything—not the walls or the light from the bathroom, not the door, not even her mother’s bed. As if, slowly and stealthily, that eerie red haze was shutting her off from the rest of the world . . . no, no, not haze. Smoke!

  “Mom?” She wanted to throw back the covers, jump out of bed, and run to her mother, but suddenly she was so scared, too scared even to move. “Mom, are you there? Please answer me!”

  Something’s burning. We have to get out of here!

  “Mom?” Miranda choked.

  The smoke was swirling with nightmares, macabre silhouettes bursting into bright orange flames.

  Fire!

  Panicked, Miranda lunged at the darkness. Her fists pounded, and her legs kicked. The sheets felt tight, trapping her, and she struck out with flailing arms. As the smoke softly, gradually began to fade, her eyes opened to light.

  For a second she didn’t know where she was. Then the walls came into focus, and the air flowed around her, gentle and quiet and cool.

  “Mom?”

  Groggy and disoriented, Miranda sat up. The covers were tangled at the foot of the bed now; her head was throbbing, her stomach churned. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck.

  “Mom, what time is it?”

  Reaching for the clock, she let out a groan. Nine forty-five? Mom was probably at work already. Why didn’t I ask her to wake me? She groaned again as a knock sounded at the door, and she stumbled over to answer it.

  “Roo said you’d forget,” Etienne greeted her.

  “I didn’t forget.” Conscious of her thin nightgown, Miranda stepped behind the door.

  “And Roo said even if you didn’t forget, you still wouldn’t be there on time.”

  His hair was damp, as though he’d just washed it. His black jeans fit casually over his narrow hips, and his black T-shirt had BOUCHER SWAMP TOURS stamped across the front in faded red letters.

  “You should be feeling proud of yourself,” he added offhandedly. “So far she hasn’t told me one word about boiling you in oil. Not many people can pass the Roo test.”

  “Is that supposed to thrill me?”

  “It thrills me. You sure don’t want Roo putting a gris-gris on you. Very bad luck, cher.”

  “I have to get dressed,” Miranda grumbled.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “I don’t need you to wait for me.”

  “You might get lost.”

  “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the inn, right? How lost could I get?”

  She felt his eyes rake over her. She doubted if those eyes ever missed much.

  “Bad night?” he asked her.

  Miranda hesitated. Was he trying to be funny? Self-righteous? But the expression on his face wasn’t joking or smug, and she didn’t feel like answering any questions right now.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Your grand-père ? Miss Teeta says he’s better,” Etienne said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

  “Great. Maybe today he’ll do something else for the whole town to talk about.”

  “The town, it won’t talk if it doesn’t know.” Etienne’s voice hardened. “I don’t think you give your friends enough credit.”

  “What friends?” But she shut the door before he had a chance to respond.

  She’d just assumed her classmates would tell everyone what had happened at the Falls—what a raving nutcase Jonas Hayes had been. It never occurred to her that they might keep it to themselves, and now she felt embarrassed and confused. Etienne had called the others her friends, yet she hardly knew them. Miranda realized she didn’t quite know what to think—about anything.

  Guiltily, she threw on her clothes, then smoothed her hair back behind her ears. She wished Etienne hadn’t stopped by for her; she wished she’d thought up some brilliant excuse to stay home. She didn’t feel like researching today, didn’t feel like being with anyone or having to make conversation. She felt horrible, and she knew she looked horrible, too. Well, how else would I look with no sleep?

  For the memory of her nightmare still clung to her. The smoke, the fire, the screaming. Despite its dreamlike aftermath, it hadn’t seemed like a dream while it was happening—all those details, so frighteningly v
ivid.

  She frowned at herself in the bathroom mirror.

  Swearing under her breath, she brushed her teeth, then headed out the door.

  Etienne was waiting for her at the end of the driveway. As Miranda approached, she could see Gage there, too, and the minute he smiled, she could feel her spirits lift. She walked between them, trying to match their long strides, then finally gave up and trailed behind. It was Gage who stopped and waited for her. Etienne slowed down but kept going.

  Nearing the Battlefield Inn, they spotted Ashley and Parker sitting together on the front steps. Ashley immediately jumped up and started waving.

  “There y’all are! We just got here, too! Isn’t this fun!”

  “Yeah,” Parker grumbled, “I love spending Saturday morning out in the hot sun doing a crappy homework assignment.”

  “It’s a beautiful day. Don’t be such a whiner.”

  “If you say so. Can we please just get this over with? Look, I’ve got all this junk my mom gave me. So I don’t see any reason to hang around here and waste time.”

  Reaching over, Ashley took the manila envelope he was holding. “I’ve already looked through it, and it’s wonderful. Brochures and little booklets and handouts—things like that. Plus, copies of actual newspaper articles, the history of the town. I mean, we’ve all heard some of the legends around here, but there’s a lot of stuff I didn’t know about.”

  “Fascinating. I’m overwhelmed with fascination.”

  “Mrs. Wilmington got us all this from the Historical Society. She’s in charge of their museum, you know. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

  “I’m overwhelmed with sweetness.” Parker made a gagging sound in his throat. “In fact, let’s nominate sweet Mrs. Wilmington for Mother of the Year.”

  “Parker, be nice.”

  “I’m always nice. You, of all people, should know how nice I am.” Jumping to the sidewalk, he suddenly took Gage by the shoulders. He looked Gage up and down; he looked behind Gage’s back. As the others started snickering, Parker stepped away again, his expression shocked. "That’s it ! I knew something was wrong. You’re missing your worse half!”

  Gage pointed to the old-fashioned bakery across the street. “She walked on ahead. She was hungry.”

  “Wow.” Parker’s eyes went wide. “I’m just not used to seeing the two of you separated. You look different. It’s kind of scary.”

  Even Ashley couldn’t help but join in. “What’s really scary is when you see those people who spend so much time with each other? And they start to look alike?”

  Etienne nodded at her, as if Gage weren’t even present. “What do you think people like that do all the time they’re together, anyway?”

  “Ugh! Stop!” Parker gave an overly dramatic shudder.

  As if on cue, Roo strolled out of the bakery, carrying a huge cinnamon roll in one hand and a giant cappuccino in the other. She wore a black taffeta miniskirt, black tights, black ballet slippers, and a black tank top over a purple T-shirt. Watching her a moment, Parker turned to the others and sighed.

  “Look at her. Fashion Goddess of the Dark Realm.”

  “She’s creative,” Ashley emphasized. “And her realm isn’t always a bad place to be.”

  “Neither is hell. If you’re the Antichrist.”

  This earned Parker a slug on the arm. Grinning, he pulled Ashley close and kissed her.

  “Don’t even ask,” Roo announced as she joined them. “These are mine, and I’m not sharing.”

  Gage promptly tore off a fourth of the cinnamon roll and popped it in his mouth. Etienne took a third of what was left. Roo stood there looking down at her practically empty napkin.

  “You didn’t need that, anyway,” Ashley insisted. “All those calories.”

  Parker gave Roo a serious once-over. “Since when has Roo cared about calories? No, wait. Since when has Roo cared about clothes? No, wait. Since when has Roo cared about how she looks?”

  He stared at Gage. Gage stared at Etienne. Etienne stared at Parker.

  “Since when has Roo cared about anything?” they all asked in unison.

  Feeling a little envious, Miranda observed the good-natured teasing. The kids back home hadn’t shared this kind of camaraderie. Not that they hadn’t been close—their own special group of girls and guys—but what Miranda saw here was different.

  Stronger, somehow.

  Like a real family.

  Miranda refocused on the three boys. Roo didn’t seem the least bit bothered by their comments. As Gage reached for the last bite of cinnamon roll, Roo stuffed it quickly into her mouth. Etienne just as quickly snatched the cappuccino from her other hand.

  Giving Etienne a shove, Roo gestured knowingly in Miranda’s direction. “I told you she’d forget.”

  “I didn’t forget,” Miranda defended herself for the second time.

  “I told you she’d be late.”

  “Okay,” Miranda grumbled. “I’ll give you that one.”

  Roo looked smugly pleased. She took back her cappuccino.

  “I think we should get started.” Ashley, as usual, seized command of the situation. “Did y’all come up with any good ideas? I brought stuff for us to take notes with.”

  Parker grudgingly accepted the pad and pen she handed him. “Wow. Just what I always wanted.”

  “You’ll thank me when you get an A on the project.”

  “I can think of other things I’d rather thank you for.”

  A memo pad came down on his head. Wincing, he rubbed his scalp and shot Ashley an injured look.

  The six of them started walking, heading down the east side of the Brickway, pausing often along the route. Other than the information Parker had gotten from his mom, Gage was the only one who’d bothered to do any actual research last night. Now he pulled a crumpled list from his pocket and read out interesting facts from time to time.

  “Like the courthouse,” Gage began, while Parker immediately dismissed the idea.

  “Yeah, yeah, we all know about the courthouse. Every town in America has a haunted courthouse.”

  “We didn’t.” Miranda looked curiously at Gage. “What about the courthouse?”

  “Supposedly, Judge Girard sentenced a lot of innocent people to death. Legend has it that he attended every single hanging, and that he’d actually laugh each time another body swung from the noose.”

  Roo’s tone was matter-of-fact. “He liked to see them twitching.”

  “The thing is,” Ashley picked up the story, “I guess a lot of prisoners really hated that judge.”

  Parker snorted. “You think?”

  “When they spoke their final words, they cursed him.” Gage’s voice lowered. “One morning the judge was found dead in his own courtroom. Hanging from the rafters. Most people didn’t believe it was suicide.”

  “Some people swear they’ve seen the judge’s ghost,” Roo finished.

  Parker was obviously pleased with the outcome. “Yeah! The only good judge is a dead judge.”

  “Parker Wilmington the Sixth!” A slug from Ashley. “You stop that right now!”

  “Parker’s dad is a judge,” Roo explained. She and Miranda had fallen behind the others, and out of earshot. “Parker really hates his dad.”

  Though Miranda had no desire to get involved, she couldn’t help stating the obvious. “He doesn’t sound like he’s real fond of his mom either.”

  “He’s not. His folks are into all the big social and political stuff around here. Parker hardly ever sees them; they’re never home.”

  “But . . . I’m sure they love him, right?”

  “Would you love Parker if he were your son?”

  Miranda didn’t know whether to laugh, be sad, or both. She decided on a more positive approach.

  “He really likes Ashley.”

  Roo’s shrug was noncommital.

  “What I mean is,” Miranda tried again, “he seems to really care about her.”

  “Sometimes I’m not sure what he care
s about.” Another shrug as Roo stared at the back of Parker’s head. “He’ll get thrown off the team permanently if they catch him drinking again. And his dad expects him to get a full football scholarship. Which Parker doesn’t want to do.”

  So Parker’s deliberately trying to get kicked off the team. Keeping the obvious conclusion to herself, Miranda asked, “What does Parker want to do?”

  “Self-destruct would be my guess.”

  Suddenly aware that part of their crew was missing, the others stopped and waited. Roo and Miranda caught up to them, and the walk continued.

  Despite her distracted state of mind, Miranda couldn’t help being fascinated by the Brickway. Things about the old South that she’d watched on TV and in movies, things she’d read about in books—all that long-faded past was coming to life around her. Whether antebellum house or step-front shop, each held the promise of mystery and romance.

  “Maybe we should start with commercial buildings,” Gage suggested. “I think we’ll have a better chance of getting inside than we would with most of the houses.”

  Ashley consulted the contents of her envelope. “What about the park?”

  “Yeah! They’re having the Rebel Rouser there today!” Parker’s eyes shone with the possibility of escape.

  At Miranda’s questioning look, Ashley elaborated. “It’s like a fair—all the money’s used to maintain the park. The Ladies of the Southland sponsor it every year.”

  “They’re this women’s club,” Gage said. Then, as an afterthought, “They do garden tours.”

  “And tea parties.” Parker daintily crooked his little finger, as if holding a china teacup. “They wear hats. With fake flowers on them. And plastic fruit.”

  Chuckling, Gage shook his head. “Let’s forget about the park. That could be a whole other tour by itself.”

  The others readily agreed. As they moved down the sidewalk, Ashley linked her arm through Miranda’s and kept up a steady flow of information.

  “Here’s the museum—the one Parker’s mom is in charge of. It belongs to the Historical Society. And that over there? It’s all closed in now, but it was the original public market. You know, like a farmer’s market? And that’s Grace Church. And that’s the library.”