by Ellery Fenn
“Yeah, but Clarisse passed out. You should’ve seen her. She snuck vodka and cranberry in her skirt. The chaperones made sure no one spiked the punch, but we weren’t searched when we came in. She was taking sips all night. She hates dances like that, but Pat wanted to go. He’s kind of a sap sometimes. Anyway, she fell on the archway and knocked it and the garland down. It was a mess.” Her laugh was sweet and ringing. “You should’ve seen it.”
Some spark in my brain fired and I could see Clarisse sprawled on the floor of the school gym. A memory. Something other than death. I smiled at the faint image.
Lisa’s brief joviality faded, and the pain returned to her face. “I don’t deserve you.”
Deserve me? I was a rotting monster, and she thought she didn’t deserve me. No one deserved a zombie.
“You’re too quick to tell me I didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s just not true.” Her expression was serious.
Why was she so stubborn? How could her pain blind her to the truth, strip her sense from her? “What do different?” I asked.
“I could’ve fought harder!”
My muscles burned in memory of straining to push him off. Of him pushing me to the ground, of the impact of his fists. There was no way to have fought harder, nothing that could have happened differently. His power was too great. “How hard you fought?”
She ran her finger over the leaves of a fern. “As hard as I could, with everything I had. And I could’ve gotten away too, if I hadn’t stopped for a second, let him come up behind me with a rock.”
My head split in a flash of blinding agony. The pain faded before I could react. “Why you stop?”
“I was exhausted. It’s hard fighting off a guy twice your size.”
“You had to rest.” I couldn’t forget the fatigue that dropped me in my tracks.
“I guess.”
“No guess.”
“Fine. I stopped because I had to. But you know, he said I was leading him on all night. What was he expected to do?”
“Did you lead on?”
Her tears preceded her whisper. “No.” She met my gaze. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
I shook my head. “Just hurt.”
She shuddered. “Other people have it worse.”
“You died!”
She wiped her tears with black silk. “I should be over it by now.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I know.”
She returned my smile halfheartedly and tucked her hair behind her ear. A meadowlark warbled the most beautiful song my senses had ever heard. It fluttered from branch to branch, its stony eyes watching us as we watched it. Night was fully formed now, dark and deep, with only the stars to see by. The moon hadn’t yet risen.
She slid next to me. I looked down at her in surprise, but all I could see was her hair as she leaned against my shoulder. My arm yearned to wrap around her, but I didn’t dare.
She waited for the song to end before whispering to me. “Do you know what people would think of me if they knew? My parents, my classmates. I’m already unpopular, but I might as well be a leper. Dad would be so ashamed.”
“Why they think bad?” I spoke into her hair.
“Because it is bad!” Her eyes were agitated as they met mine. She rested her hand on my leg to prop herself up.
“Why?”
“What, you think it’s a good thing?”
She didn’t see my head shake. Her eyes had returned to the water. “Why think you’re bad? His fault.”
I could barely distinguish her voice from the hushing of the creek. “Yeah.”
My hand rose to stroke her hair of its own accord. “You’re not bad for what he did to you.”
Her shoulders trembled and her hand closed tightly over my leg.
“Lisa?”
She threw her arms around me with a wordless cry, pulling herself into my lap and burying her face in my neck. I wrapped my arms around her.
“Why?!” she sobbed, scratching my skin. Tears consumed her, shook her body violently. Every inch of me ached. The sound of her pain, of her horror, squeezed around me like a snake, wrung me dry, agonized every cell. She was hurt. She felt broken. And there was nothing I could do but hold her. Nothing I could do but feel the echo of her emotion in me.
I wanted to scream and gnash my teeth. Rend my clothes like a beast. I wanted to kill Doug. How could he do this? How could he do this? How could he steal every hope and dream she’d ever had?
He deserved to burn for his crimes, for what he inflicted on my most beloved. To feel the pain he caused her. The pain he caused me. But nothing could hurt worse than this, than the pain searing through me, than the tears on Lisa’s face. He could never comprehend such agony.
The only thing that held me together was the crying ghost I held. I had to be strong for her. She needed me.
She was all I had.
We sat together until the moon rose. She stopped crying eventually but didn’t move. If anything, her grip on me grew tighter.
My head rested on hers, soft curly hair floating around my face. Her skin against mine was familiar and electric. Intimate. Sacred.
She finally pulled away and met my gaze. The expression on her face was unreadable. She stroked my cheek, and I couldn’t keep myself from leaning into her touch.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lisa
We spent the rest of the night and the morning in the clearing. Corrie read the journal, and I watched her. I felt like a child late at night after a nightmare, happy to be in bed with their mother. Her shift didn’t leave my hand the whole night.
I rubbed my face on the silk one last time before placing it in the hollow tree. It was heavy with Corrie’s scent, her zombie juice, musky like fire and honeysuckle.
I floated into the clearing where she sat, the book tight in her hands. “I’d probably better get going. The cops are bound to show up anytime.”
She slapped the pile of fish beside her. All stocked up.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay? You’ll keep yourself hidden?”
She rolled her eyes. “Go.”
“Yeah.” She had plenty of fish. No one would find her in the hollow tree. She was safe, we were safe. I tore my eyes from her and flew away.
I glided through the kitchen door of the Allans’. Doug, his father, and the lawyer sat around the table.
“You’ve got this,” the lawyer said. He was a short, balding man. “Just tell them what you told me. You’re going to be fine.”
Doug nodded. He wore a suit. He was handsome, like he’d been that night. Two nights ago. It seemed like years had passed since then, but when I looked at him now, it felt like minutes.
“This has to work, Adam.” Mr. Allan’s eyes were shadowed and red. “Doug’s not going to jail.”
“No one’s going to jail,” the lawyer said.
A knock sounded on the door.
“That’ll be them.”
Doug straightened his tie.
Mrs. Allan opened the door. “Good morning, officer.”
It was the ‘bad cop’.
“Morning ma’am. I’m here to drive Doug to the station. Detective Miller’s waiting for him.”
“I’m ready.” Doug’s chair scraped the ground as he stood.
The lawyer strode forward and gripped the policeman’s hand. “I’m Adam Crocker, Doug’s lawyer.”
“Glad to have you.”
I followed them out to the car as Mr. Allan watched from the front room window. They slid into the backseat. I glided into shotgun.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Mr. Crocker said in a low voice. “Most everybody rides in a cop car at least once in their life.” Doug looked like he was going to be sick.
Tense silence filled the car as we wound through the streets, passing the familiar sights of the town. The elementary school where I never kept a friend more than a week, the public library I spent too
much time at, the street where Clarisse lived.
Clarisse. My best friend. She’d heard the news about me by now. She’d be fine without me, but would I be okay without her?
I made a split-second decision and threw myself from the car. I had to see her, even if it was to say goodbye.
The street sped by. Everything looked different in the day. I was used to coming after dark when I snuck out, and I almost passed her house.
The house itself looked like every other one on the block, but the front yard was as far from a regular lawn as you could get. Part vegetable garden, part flower garden, and filled with concrete statues. I knew every inch of it.
I tapped the ‘Silence = Death’ sign that guarded the front step. A wreath of wilted roses hung on the door.
I floated in. The entry hall was filled with incense and the smell of dried apricots in a bowl by the door. This was the house where everything changed every day, but now I couldn’t see a single difference. A pile of muddy sneakers still dominated the floor.
Funny. I was always the one thing that never changed here. The nighttime visitor that always sat in the corner, that was always willing to watch MTV, that always left just after midnight. Now I was the strangest thing I’d ever seen. As always, out of place. A rock of Bittermann in an ocean of Wilcox.
I heard the clickety-clack of claws on tile, and Marx the terrier turned the corner. He stared straight at me, even though I was invisible. I glanced around to be sure no one was within hearing distance.
“Can you see me?”
He showed me his belly, and I couldn’t help but scritch away. His tail drummed the floor.
“What are you doing, boy?” The lisping voice of the youngest daughter, Maria, startled me. She frowned at the dog. “There’s nobody here to scratch your belly.”
Marx hopped up and went to wag at his owner. She smiled and grabbed her baseball mitt from the sneaker pile before letting him out ahead of her. I stared after. Baseball. I forgot how much she loved baseball. Maria was the best pitcher Lake Oswego had seen in years, and Doug helped her practice.
I buried my head in my hands. What if he hurt her like he hurt me? She was only in fifth grade, too young to know any better, young enough that it could ruin her life. Why couldn’t it have just been me? Why couldn’t I be the only one he ever touched?
The soft sound of guitar drifted up from the basement. Clarisse. Interrupting my brooding like she always did.
Instead of floating through the floor, I took the usual way. The walls of the staircase were a giant collage of pictures, paintings, photographs, everything that made this place a home. An unfinished memorial to the Challenger hung over the steps. I stopped on the middle stair and traced the spot I’d carved my name on the railing. Lisa, with a heart next to it.
Clarisse sang the opening lyrics to Bela Lugosi’s Dead. Her voice was beautiful, especially without all the raspy sounds she usually added.
I sang along quietly to myself. Clarisse’s music was weird, but this one was kind of fun. I hopped down the last few stairs.
Clarisse strummed an acoustic guitar cross-legged on the couch. Her mohawk was loose over her bare face. Her without makeup was a rare sight, as was the oversized Mickey Mouse t-shirt she wore. The snapping of a camera alerted me to the presence of her parents, having a photoshoot on the floor, it looked like. Judy posed with a Bible as Isaac took pictures. They always made me call them by their first names.
My chest tightened. I’d never be able to join them in these moments again. They’d continue on, but I wouldn’t be there.
Clarisse screamed the chorus, her eyes squeezed shut. To anyone else it might’ve looked like she was really into the music, but I knew her better than that. Something was wrong.
I took my customary seat next to her, curled with my knees to my chest in the corner.
The clicking of the shutter punctuated the music like a metronome.
A shriek came from the top of the stairs. “I said, where are my butterfly socks? Mom?”
Clarisse winced and tucked her feet beneath her.
Judy set the Bible down with a thud. “I’ll get it. Sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Isaac followed her. “I think I got what I needed.”
Judy floated up the stairs, light on her feet like a fairy. Isaac took the steps two at a time.
Clarisse wrestled with the chords. She’d never been able to get the bridge quite right. I leaned back and watched. Singing was natural for her; guitar wasn’t.
I’d never heard her sing like this though. It wasn’t as pretty as her singing usually was. She was hoarse and moaned the words like she’d been stabbed. Her voice raised again until she was screaming the chorus.
“Shut up!” Kelly stomped the floor. Clarisse smirked and went through the refrain an extra time.
One night, I didn’t know how long ago, we were hanging out in her room while she played the song for one of the first times. Halfway through, she changed the lyrics to ‘Lisa’s undead’. I laughed then, but it was a little too fitting now.
The song ended, and the last chord hung in the air. I always loved the way she let it die out without interrupting, let it linger like. Well, like a ghost.
Clarisse set the guitar on the floor and lay back. The tortured expression never left her face.
I looked her in the eyes. She hated how blue they were, but I’d always been jealous of them. I tried to memorize them.
“Oh Lisa,” she said.
“You can see me?” I slapped my hand over my mouth. Stupid! Speaking without thinking. Corrie never did that.
She jumped up, kicking the guitar across the floor. Her shock quickly turned to anger.
“Lisa, you piece of shit!” she hissed. “Where’ve you been? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her eyes skipped around the room, but never landed on me. “Where are you? Stop hiding. This isn’t funny.”
Of course, she hadn’t seen me. A million options ran through my head, but it came down to two. Let her eventually find out that I’m dead, and that’s the end of it, or tell her the truth, and bring her into this mess. My selfishness won out. “I’m not hiding.”
“Well I don’t see you!” Her anger cracked. “I’ve been going out of my mind. I was sure Doug did something to you.”
I chewed on my sleeve. My choice was made; now I had to go along with it. No matter how stupid it was. “He did.”
She turned in circles, still looking for me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “That bastard. I’m going to kill him. Okay, maybe not me, but Pat will kill him. I never trusted him. What’d he do to you?”
I swallowed. Dumb decision. “He killed me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not metaphorically. Literally. He hit me in the head with a rock.”
“This isn’t funny, Lisa.”
“I’m not joking.”
She sighed. “Seriously. You can tell me. And if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay too. We’ll work through this together.”
“I just told you.” I crossed the floor to stand in front of her. “He killed me.”
Her eyes widened at the disembodied sound of my footsteps. “Okay, this is freaking me out. I’m going to get Mom.”
“No, wait!” I grabbed her upper arm.
She jerked away and stared at her arm with an open mouth. “What?” she shrieked. “What!”
“Are you okay down there?” Her dad’s voice came from the kitchen.
She tentatively touched her arm. “Y-yeah. Yes. I’m just… singing.”
“Oh. It sounds good.”
She squeezed the spot I’d touched her. “Lisa, I need you to swear on… on David Bowie.”
This was the most sacred vow either of us could make. “Okay.”
“Swear to me that you’re not messing with me. Swear to me this is real. Because I can’t believe this.”
“I swear. I swear on David Bowie. Doug killed me on the side of Boones Ferry Road. I’m dead. I’m a ghost.”
She shivered. “I don’t like this.”
“Believe me, I don’t either. Can I- can I show you? Let you see me. So you can know for sure.”
She shook her head, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
I raised my brightness slowly, from a faint mist, to a human shape, to me.
“Ta-da.”
Clarisse stumbled back, her eyes locked on me. “Holy shit. Holy shit, Lisa.”
“Yeah I know. It’s a lot. I didn’t want to put this on you.”
“Shut up. Shut your stupid face.” Her lower lip trembled.
“It’s okay.” She pulled away when I reached for her. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. You’re… dead.” She crumpled to the floor with a sob. “Oh God!” she wailed, heaving with every breath.
“Are you okay?” It was her mom at the top of the stairs.
“I said I’m singing!” she screamed. She crawled to the door at the base of the stairs and slammed it shut. “Leave me alone!” She pressed her back to the door and cried, shaking like a wet cat.
I reached out to her. “Clarisse.”
“Don’t touch me.” She curled in on herself. Her breaths were shallow, short, racing faster until she hyperventilated.
I knelt beside her. “Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. You can do this.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She gasped between each word.
I chuckled softly. “See? You’ve got this.”
She rolled over with a sob and buried her face in the corner. She cried for at least five minutes. It was my fault she was crying, my fault she was in pain, and there was nothing I could do to help her. I tried not to cry.
I was dead and my best friend was alive. She’d graduate without me. She’d have a life without me. I never imagined being without her, and now I was losing her forever. I already lost her. We may have been able to talk now, but it was stolen time. Time we shouldn’t have. I lost her. I lost my parents. I lost everything I had, and everything I might’ve had.
I wiped my eyes with the coarse end of my sleeve. This was the end. The end of everything.
A knock shook the door. “Can you like, maybe calm down a little?” It was Kelly. “Mom and Dad are worried.”
Clarisse drew in a deep breath. “Tell them I’m fine. I’m just… on my period.”