Dead.
The puzzle pieces connect. Amber yanks her hand away, shoulders rigid and cheeks pale. “Y-you killed the ones who hurt you?” With each word, she moves farther away until her back hits the station.
Sebastian nods, his image flickering. The locket still in his outstretched hand. “Are you clairsentient or something?”
“Clare who?” Amber’s mind races with what to do next.
He laughs. “Another time,” his voice distant, eyes lost momentarily somewhere else.
Looping her pack strap across her wrist, she gently begins to slide it up her arm.
“To answer your question, I’m tired of being the victim.” He focuses back on her face. “I fought back. Does it matter? They’re gone. I’m stuck here. With the lunatics.”
Grabbing her backpack, she glances at the doorway.
And then he’s in front of her, fully whole. “Going somewhere? You cannot leave.”
Her headache worsens. “There’s a party.”
The second she notices the change in him—from the way his brows knit together, his eyes darken, his fists clench—Amber decides. She has seen his intentions, knows what he plans to do with that necklace, and she can’t let him do it.
“Goodbye, Sebastian.” She seizes his chain and races away. Grateful for being on her school track team, she heads for the exit.
Only to be blocked by him again.
Sebastian flicks a hand. The rusted hinges howl at being disturbed. The front doors slam closed.
“What the—” She gasps at his display of strength. “How can you….”
“Knapping my property?” His whispered words sound menacing.
Sebastian has played his macabre games before, trying to keep her inside whatever room they’ve met in. The last time, he trapped her in the tunnels until she admitted she liked him. Naively, she’d played along, flattered by his attention.
Not anymore.
Not after what she’d seen.
They glare at each other. Even from a distance, Amber feels him trying to siphon her energy. Those hours of watching Supernatural come in handy. Not sure of what he is really capable of, she imagines a thick door falling in front of her like a ginormous shield.
For a few seconds, they size each other up until he realizes what she did. “That’s my intelligent girl. You make me mad as hops, but you are my friend and so lovely to look at. Now, give me my chain, and you can go.” Holding out his hand, he waits for her to comply.
Amber agrees. She is smart—she knows what bad guys do. They break their promises. After all the years of using Templeton as a playground, she knows every inch of this place.
“Here.” Extending her arm, she fakes the motion of giving him his prize by switching hands before dashing across the room towards the nearest open window. When his form flashes by, she darts upstairs instead. Taking them two at a time, she keeps to the wall where the steps aren’t badly damaged. Debris is all around. To her left, she enters an office, pushed his necklace into her pack, and runs around the corroded metal desk.
“Give it back!” he bellows. Icy wind separates the hairs on the back of her head. She turns just as a black coil reaches out for her arm and misses.
Stifling her scream, she wonders exactly what he is. Ghost? Demon?
As if she’s jumping a hurdle, Amber launches herself over the empty window frame. The rusty fire escape creaks loudly as her weight slams onto it. She scoots down the orange-brown steps. One step from the last, the frame jolts. She almost loses her footing. Her palms smack against the peeling railing as she grabs hold of it to steady herself.
The hot air shifts. He’s catching up. Slipping between two wide bars, she jumps down onto the grass. Metal and rock scrape her arms and legs, but she ignores the discomfort, only one intention in mind.
Get home and never come back.
Running up the hill, her sandals slip on a muddy patch. Thrown forward, she lands hard and scrapes her knees. Breathing heavily, heart about to burst, Amber hauls herself back onto her feet. The fence beckons mere steps away.
The birds stop chatting. A breeze kicks up. Inches from the ragged, metal-spoked hole, something grabs the back of her sweater. There are no branches to snag it. Amber’s fear increases. The hairs on her neck rise as the humid air dips, freezing instantly.
“You’re my only friend!” Sebastian yells into her ear. “Why interfere?”
She flinches. As she struggles through the fence, tears glide down her cheeks. Spokes slash her skin. Invisible icy fingers wrap around her ankle.
He’s been practicing many things, hasn’t he?
She grips the fence, fighting. “Were you going to use your locket on me, Sebastian?” She kicks out. “I thought, as your friend, I mattered to you.”
No longer is any part of him visible in the light.
“You do matter to me.” The hurtful pressure on her skin switches to caressing. “Do you realize how much?”
She breaks free. Her backpack gets caught. Cursing, Amber leaves the pack behind and yanks her sweater off with it. “You’re a killer! Let me go!”
“Please, Amber, I love you. Don’t leave me alone.” A pressure around her waist hauls her back as Sebastian makes another attempt to stop her. He told her once that those who died at the hospital cannot leave its grounds.
The asphalt road sits a few feet away, her family’s property just beyond. No one is outside. The huge oaks bordering their land, usually loved for their shade, are only obstacles today.
With a burst of adrenaline, she lunges forward, latching onto the yellow sign post with the Curve Ahead symbol. Pain flares in her hands, but she doesn’t loosen her grip. “I won’t be back,” she whispers, her heart cracking at abandoning Templeton’s grounds.
“You will see me again, Miss Sterling.” Despite his sad tone, there’s arrogance and threat in his final words. With a sigh, he releases her.
Amber darts forward, inches from the blacktop. Twisting, she needs one last glimpse of the only ghost she’s ever befriended.
He’s gone.
Everything she’s endured rushes back in an emotional whirlwind. More tears momentarily blind her as she clutches her burned hand to her chest. Why did Sebastian have to ruin everything?
“I wish I’d never met you.” Amber steps up to the road.
Spotting an approaching vehicle, she waits.
As the SUV speeds toward her, she wonders if she should go back and retrieve her belongings. She decides to ask her dad to grab them.
Pop music blares out of the car windows—a song she’s sung in the shower.
She’s humming along to the music when a huge weight slams against her back, propelling her forward, straight into the lane.
Arms flailing like a windmill, Amber fights to regain her balance.
The weight is a steady wall of power. Her head pounds.
A horn wails. Brakes screech.
Sudden pressure smacks into her body, and she is airborne, seconds before a peaceful blackness settles in.
Part Two
Templeton grounds never frightened Amber when she was a child. Yet on this Halloween evening, against the contrasting waves of a bubblegum pink and popsicle orange sky, she knows firsthand that the rumors of it being haunted are true.
The asylum has terrifying secrets.
After that experience nine weeks ago, she now has some of her own.
She will never again step foot alone on Templeton grounds.
Strains of music float outside as Amber turns to take in her family’s two-story white and gray colonial home. Hospital administrators—all generations of Templetons and Sterlings, the two families long joined together by marriages—have all lived here. Today, festive garlands of witches and skeletons enhance its door frames. Orange wreaths with black cats hang from window frames. The house boasts a comical, gruesome, wide-eyed smiley face.
Purple lights that she helped string across the wraparound porch twinkle, welcoming extended family and frie
nds. Blow-up pumpkins dot the lawn and plastic-bag ghosts hang from branches. Everyone is inside enjoying her parents’ annual party. All except for one person.
Riley Townsend, Amber’s best friend, is late. As usual.
She should be used to it. Rubbing her black cardigan sleeves, she wishes he’d hurry up.
“Ames, really? You’re wearing a TARDIS dress?”
Spinning around, she beams.
Riley stands a few feet away, clutching a shopping bag.
“Where did you come from?” Twirling, she showcases her knee-length blue dress, proud of its crinoline-layered wide skirt and phone booth marked “Police Public Call Box” across her bustier. “I made it. I’m one of the Doctor’s companions.”
His disapproval is apparent from his raised brow and upturned top lip. “What? Oh, Doctor Who. I forgot.”
Amber’s smile switches to a confused stare as she takes in his black leather shoes and matching pants. Even his white dress shirt looks ironed.
Riley lives in jeans, graphic tees, and sneakers. He hasn’t worn a costume in years.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming as Mulder. I could’ve been Scully.” When he doesn’t acknowledge her X-Files comment, she walks around him in a huff, stomps up the porch steps. At the front double doors, she stops and turns. “I know! You’re a funeral home director from that movie we watched last week. Except you need to drop the beanie. Kills the effect.”
“Huh? I wanted to wear something different.” He ducks his head and follows her. “What’s up with the combat boots and blue streaked hair?”
Amber grabs the handles about to push them open and freezes. “I’m having fun.” She glances at him. “What’s your problem?”
Shrugging, he unbuttons his jacket. “This isn’t elementary school, Ames. We’re juniors. Time to grow up.” He shoots her his trademark grin.
Butterflies let loose inside her stomach. That’s been happening lately. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Maturity.” They enter the house. “From now on, my style’s off limits.”
Since his parents’ divorce last year, Riley has become part of her family. He’s the youngest of five—two sisters away at college and twin, senior brothers, at their school. His siblings are all too busy with their own lives. Amber doesn’t mind. She enjoys his company.
They head down the hall toward the beats of music, the buzz of conversation, and the smell of food. As they’re about to pass her father’s office, Riley taps her elbow. “Before we join the party, can we talk? In there?”
“Sure.” Once inside, Amber is grateful her dad left the fire burning. She settles her layers on the leather sofa opposite the fireplace, while he sets his bag on the floor then plops down on the other end.
“Look inside,” he says, pointing to the bag.
Curious, she leans over and exclaims, “You found it! Where?” She removes her old paisley backpack and unzips it. “I thought it was gone.” Her fingers tremble as she inspects its contents. Black-and-white photographs, a ring of skeleton keys, some scuffed folders, a black diary, flashlight…. Her hand, the one with a faint oval scar on the palm, stills.
It’s not there. Checking each pocket, Amber comes up empty. “D-did you find anything else?”
Riley gives her a quizzical look. “Just that junk. I never got why you liked that place.”
Replacing everything, she jams the pack inside the bag and sits back. “I know how much you hate it. You never went with me.” A chill forms in the air. “You went alone?”
“Well, duh. Who else would go with me? None of the guys would waste their time. And besides…” He scratches under his shirt collar. “I wanted to help your parents. They couldn’t understand why you ran outta there. You couldn’t remember anything from that day. I figured maybe I could retrace your steps, like on those CSI shows. And I was, uh, curious.”
“Did you tell them about the bag?” she asks, indignant.
“You think I’m a snitch? No one knows I went there. I did it on my own.” He loosens his tie. The corners of his mouth turn down. “So this is gratitude, huh?”
Her gaze drops, cheeks flush. “Thanks, Riley. No one else would’ve gone looking for my bag. By the way, where was it?”
Smiling now, he says, “I found it behind the front desk inside, um, I think the sign said ‘Boy’s Wing.’ Have you remembered anything about what happened?”
Amber picks at her nails, unsure of how to answer him. The fire crackles, flames spitting up out of a log.
“Ames, why’d you run away that day? You can tell me.”
Into the path of an SUV. A shudder passes down her spine as she relives the vehicles’ impact. Trying to shrug it off, she hopes he doesn’t notice her reaction.
That fateful morning’s events resurface. She’s always known, even though she lied and told everyone she didn’t. Blaming her concussion had been easy. Almost killed by a ghost? Who would believe her anyway? Everyone already accuses her of having an overactive imagination, attributing it to her love of sci-fi shows, fantasy books, and horror movies.
Gulping away the returning fear, she thinks she should tell someone. Release the burden of keeping it in all this time. Why not Riley? Despite their differences and silly bickering lately, he’s still her closest friend.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
He nods, turning serious. “I won’t, Ames.”
“Okay.”
Part Three
Smoothing her skirt down, she clutches a throw pillow to her chest. Taking a deep breath, she soon lets it out, confident now. “You know I’ve always liked exploring... taking pictures. I wanted to understand the people who stayed there.”
“C’mon, you’re obsessed with it.” Riley sits sideways and draws an ankle across his knee, his fingers tapping along to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”
Biting her bottom lip, she smirks. “You’re right, Riley. That place fascinates me. Why? Look around this room—the one spot where all of my families’ achievements, history, and pictures are showcased—and then it’s easy to understand my strong attachment to the hospital. It’s in my blood.”
She studies the hearth, her memories lost in the dancing flames. “I… found some files last summer. A diary. Other things. All hidden in a girls’ wing crawlspace. The book belonged to a nineteen-year-old patient, Sebastian Howard.”
Riley scoots closer. His hand reaches out, but he hesitates. Finally, he drops it to the cushion. “Yeah?”
She coughs away the sudden dryness in her throat. “His name was written inside. The pictures and files were his. Doctor’s notes, medical terms I didn’t understand. I took them home, read the diary… he was miserable. Alone. I visited the places mentioned in his notes. To see if I could somehow connect with him or feel, I don’t know, something.”
“So you went searching for the ghost of a dead guy. You’re weirding me out, Ames.”
Still not meeting his eyes, she continues. “I know the books in here try to explain those types of things, unknown things, with scientific explanations. I believe in both science and parapsychology, and other things in between.”
Riley keeps quiet.
“Don’t laugh, but I did sense something. I thought it was him.”
“The Howard guy?”
She nods, gulping. “Then I began seeing him in my dreams.”
He bursts out laughing and smacks his thigh. “Crushing on a dead dude? Seriously? How’d you know what he looked like?”
Amber shoots him a death glare, snapping, “We can go join the party.”
“Go on.” He rolls his eyes before resting his hands behind his beanie-covered head.
“He’s in some of those pictures. Don’t believe. I didn’t… Not exactly. Until he started talking to me. I was in the physical therapy building, about to photograph wheelchairs inside the empty pool. Someone yelled not to climb the steps down into it. The place was empty.” Amber shudders.
“Was it… Sebastian?”
Nodding, she glances over. “He identified himself, and then he said, ‘I only want to protect you. You’re my friend, Amber. The steps aren’t safe.’ I didn’t go. When I went back another day, they had disintegrated.”
“Whoa.”
“Afterward, whenever I visited, Sebastian would show up. Everywhere. To talk.”
“A ghost friend?” Riley says.
“Kinda. Sometimes he stood so close, I could feel his Arctic breath on my face.”
“Ugh.” Riley shifts onto his side, peering at her. “Do you like him or somethin’?”
No, I like you. She instead mutters, “He was sweet, at first.”
She starts to slip her hands inside her sleeves, but Riley surprises her by sliding down and locking his fingers around hers. “What else?”
Amber gazes at him, at their hands. Butterflies squee. “He started to demand things.”
“Like what?”
“Wanting me to spend all my free time there. He wanted to show me his special place in the basement. I refused. He didn’t understand so he sulked.”
“Sounds like a moron.”
“I stopped going for a few weeks. When I returned, he apologized. He was polite. Nice. But he would say and do things. He had a bad temper. One time he broke a window.”
“Spooky ghost guy.” Removing his beanie, Riley smoothes down his blond hair.
“New look?” Amber notices his straightened locks. “Where’s your curls?”
His exaggerated sigh stirs up the resting butterflies. “I got sick of ‘em. Go on.”
“The day of my accident, Sebastian materialized in front of me. I saw him. He was tall, thin, had blond hair. Slicked back, kinda like yours. I had a party to attend, but he wouldn’t let me leave. I had to climb out a second-floor window and go down a wobbly fire escape.”
Riley flexes his shoulders and snickers before releasing her. “You shouldn’t wear dresses to that place.”
“How’d you know what I wore?”
“I was the first one there after the accident. Heard it from my house.”
No one told her Riley had been there.
“Whatever. The last thing Sebastian said was he needed me, that he loved me.” She scowls. “Yuck. He’s like, ancient.”
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 53