Lifelike

by Sheila A. Nielson

  The unhappy snake was back. It crawled up out of my stomach and wedged itself tight under my ribcage.

  “Wren!” A voice called from somewhere across the room. I turned away from the dazzling image of Rosalyn Worthin in a kind of daze. It took me a few seconds to register it was Cassandra hurrying toward me, her long legs quickly carrying her across the distance between us.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” the young ghost hunter said with a grin. She stopped before me and held out a folded piece of paper. Confused, I hesitantly took it from her outstretched hand.

  “It’s my cell number and email address,” she said. “We’re hitting the road pretty soon and I wanted to give you this so we can keep in touch.”

  I gaped at Cassandra, my brain struggling to get around the unavoidable truth. Cassandra was leaving. Right this minute. My heart gave a nauseating cha-chunk as it plunged suddenly downward.

  “I’m going to make sure Mom adds this place to our roster for next summer. That way we can hang out again next year,” Cassandra said. “Have you got an email?”

  “Uh, yeah. Of course.” Aunt Victoria and my violin instructor were the only people I’d ever emailed, but I did have an account.

  “Give me your address. That way we can keep in touch,” Cassandra said.

  Gabrielle seemed to realize I was having trouble getting my thoughts together because she pulled a pen from her pocket and handed it to me. Cassandra put out her hand—inviting me to write my address on it. Slowly, I bent and wrote it on her open palm.

  Next Summer.

  For Cassandra, next Summer was a given. An inevitability never to be questioned. She had all the time in the world. What she didn’t realize, was that I didn’t.

  As I scratched each letter of my email address onto her skin, my hand trembled ever so slightly. The only true friend I’d made in years was about to walk out the door forever. There was no way I could make her understand how important our short friendship had been to me. How much her tears had helped to heal a small part of the overwhelming grief in my heart.

  Suddenly, I wanted Cassandra to know everything. To explain why saying goodbye was tearing me apart inside. But I could not do that. It would be wrong to overwhelm her with my problems just as she headed off to explore exciting, new places. Wrong to fill her with my pain.

  I finished writing and quietly handed Gabrielle’s pen back. Cassandra glanced at my email address and then gave me quick smile—full of warm friendship and anticipation for next summer.

  “Write me as soon as you can,” I said a little too softy.

  “I’ve got a parting gift for you.” Cassandra pulled a couple of small objects from her back pocket and handed them to me with a mischievous grin.

  It was a tube of glow-in-the-dark lipstick and a matching bottle of fingernail polish. Slowly, I reached out and took the items from her, tightening my grip until their hard edges dug painfully into my skin.

  “I expect a full report on what happens with Asante when you call him,” Cassandra said. “Don’t leave anything out, okay?”

  “I’ll miss you.” Some of my sadness must have crept into my voice, because Cassandra’s smile slipped a moment and she moved forward to engulf me in a tight hug. She held on for much longer than she needed to, as if trying to give me enough hugging to last me an entire year.

  Or even a lifetime.

  She released me and backed toward the front doors, like she was suddenly in a hurry. I wondered if, like me, she wanted to get away before she started blubbering big time.

  “Till next year,” Cassandra said with a small wave of her hand. And then she was gone out the main doors. Probably forever.

  I stood and stared at the closed doors as if they were the most tragic thing I’d ever seen. Hopelessness tightened its iron bands around my ribcage turning my breath shallow. Inside I was sliding down a sheer mountainside—madly grasping and clawing as I tried to stop myself from plunging into a bottomless abyss.

  What was there left but to sit down and calmly wait to die?

  Gabrielle put out a hand, her fingers firmly griping into my shoulder in concern. “Hey, don’t look like that. You’ll see Cassandra again next year,” she said slowly.

  I gazed unseeingly back at her. She didn’t understand what I was going through. What it was like to lose everything. To hang over the abyss of despair and discover that there was nothing left to reach for. No solid handhold to keep me safe from plunging over the edge.

  Just when it felt like I was going to shatter apart inside—a prism of light flickered to life on Gabrielle’s shoulder. It winked and shimmered.

  I blinked, then glanced up at the roof in surprise. A rainbow of lights reflected off the crystals of the chandelier, dancing cheerfully on the ceiling above our heads.

  Gabrielle followed my gaze. “Oh, how pretty!”

  I thoughtfully regarded the light still flickering on Gabrielle’s shoulder like some cheerful, little firefly desperate to get my attention. To distract me from sliding down into a dark place of no return.

  Xavier.

  If anyone knew the frustration and suffering of being trapped, it was him. He was there for me, even if no one else was, because he understood.

  The first time Xavier used the trick with the prisms, he’d wanted me to notice the quiet need of the crying lady in the leather jacket. That was the kind of thing he did. Over and over, he sought out ways to help. Words of hope carved on a door frame. A gentle presence comforting a frightened boy trapped in a dark room. A song played on a broken music box at the right moment. Xavier overcame despair by giving hope to others. That single thought was like a rope being cast down through the darkness. I forced myself to mentally reach for it.

  It was Gabrielle he’d shone his light on this time. And suddenly, I knew what it was Xavier wanted me to say to her. Something only a living person could make her hear. I didn’t think there was any possible way she would actually listen—but someone had to say the words. To give Gabrielle one small chance at perfect happiness.

  The light on Gabrielle’s shoulder winked out as she finally turned back to me. Noticing the intense look on my face, she cocked her head questioningly to one side.

  “Matt’s the kind of guy who still believes in love like that.” I waved a hand at the now empty place where the older couple stood not long ago. “If you really want someone who would love to the very end, he’s the one you need to ask out.”

  Gabrielle couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d accidentally swallowed her own tongue and choked on it.

  “Matt? As in Matt Kutler?” she demanded in disbelief.

  I rolled my eyes in exasperation, hoping that wherever he was, Xavier would see that I’d at least tried. Why did I even bother? There was no considering the possibilities. No willingness to think outside the box. Just flat out, no chance at all. Matt deserved better.

  “Never mind. Forget I ever said anything,” I muttered as I started to walk past her.

  Gabrielle put out a hand and stopped me in my tracks. “Hey, Wren. I’m not trying to insult Matt. I’m sure he’s a really nice guy. I don’t blame you for having a crush on him.”

  I snorted derisively, which startled her. “Matt is a little old for me, Gabrielle.”

  “Oh, well—I just thought…”

  “You have all these dreams hidden deep inside your heart, but you’re not willing to risk anything for them,” I snapped out at her. “Why is it that you people can never see what’s important until it’s too late?”

  Gabrielle was just getting her mouth in order to call me on my sudden attitude when someone spoke behind us.

  “I thought I heard voices in here.”

  Gabrielle and I turned to find Aunt Victoria standing close by. We’d been so wrapped up in our conversation neither of us noticed her come into the room.

  “It sounded pretty intense.” Aunt Victoria’s unfaltering gaze shifted to me. She knew I was upset and wanted to know why.

 
“Wren thinks I should ask Matt out,” Gabrielle laughed lightly, like it was the most exquisitely funny joke she’d ever heard.

  “Does she?” Aunt Victoria looked at me long and hard. Did she think I’d betrayed Matt’s secret by speaking up? Aunt Victoria turned back to Gabrielle leveling her with a thoughtful look.

  “I think that would be unwise,” Aunt Victoria said slowly. “You aren’t the right one for Matt.”

  Gabrielle’s smile vanished in an instant. “And why, exactly, would I be considered so unsuitable?” Her voice was a little bit stiff when she spoke.

  My aunt spoke kindly and gently, but that did not quite take away the harsh truth behind her words. “You’ve made it very clear what you think of Matt. I would hate to see him come to believe it.”

  Ouch!

  I half expected Gabrielle to get defensive, but she surprised me by having the very good grace to become embarrassed instead. Face flushed, she dropped her gaze, looking thoughtfully at the floor.

  “Don’t worry yourself, Gabrielle.” Aunt Victoria placed a placating hand on the young curate’s shoulder as she broke into a mischievous smile. “In a few years’ time, Kat will be old enough to make a play for Matt. She’s had her eye on him since the day she started work here. And as you know, Kat is a girl who always gets what she wants.”

  Gabrielle snapped to attention, her eyes huge. “Kat?” Gabrielle’s voice was a rasp of sheer incredulity. “She’s just a kid.”

  “In five years she won’t be,” Aunt Victoria said with a serene smile.

  Aunt Victoria was good.

  Real good.

  Chapter Thirty

  Several days later, I woke up feeling like I’d been sleeping on rocks. The marrow of my bones ached, and my muscles were sore, like I’d been beaten black and blue.

  “Don’t do this to me. Not today,” I muttered to my throbbing body. “Kat’s brother is coming.”

  And so was the bride doll.

  She was all cleaned up and finally ready to be presented to her adoring public. The restorer in New York overnighted her to Aunt Victoria late yesterday. Before today was out, Roselyn’s haunted doll would be back in the museum.

  Ever since Gabrielle sent out the official press release, there’d been news reporters, magazine writers, and doll enthusiasts swarming all over the museum. Aunt Victoria and I must have told the story of how I discovered the secret closet and the bride doll at least a dozen times over the past couple of days. Both of our faces had been on the news nearly every night. But never once did I mention the groom doll.

  It was still dark within my room, but a slim crack of dull light spilled in from between my curtains, hinting that there might be some daylight coming. I tried to reach out and turn my bedside clock so I could read it, but my hand felt too heavy, like I was attempting to push it through thick jelly instead of air. I let it drop, hanging limp over the side of the bed.

  All the excitement had taken a toll on my body. Every morning the rolling exhaustion got worse and worse. Moving any part of my body felt like the equivalent of trying to bench press a fifty-story skyscraper strapped to my back. Things usually got easier as the morning progressed. I just had to give myself time.

  I think I may have dozed for a moment, because the next thing I knew, I could feel daylight on my skin. I let the patch of sunshine’s pleasant glow radiate deep beneath my skin. The warm tingling filled my aching body with much needed relief. I slowly opened my eyes to find the room still dark and filled with shadows. Not a sunbeam to be seen.

  “Xavier?” My voice came out raspy, still heavy with sleep. “Is that you?”

  There was no answer, of course, but I was certain Xavier was somewhere nearby. This knowledge immediately made me feel better inside. Outside, I was still feeling pretty much like crap.

  I glanced at the doll, which I’d moved to the bedside table. His head was tilted to one side, like he was listening to a voice only he could hear. I willed those thoughtful green eyes to move. To look over into my own. They stayed firmly fixed, down and to the right—searching for his would-be bride who was no longer there.

  My arm trembled as I forced it to obey me, tentatively reaching out to switch on my bedside lamp. Soft light filled the empty room, but I could feel Xavier’s presence. Stronger now, as if he’d moved closer when he saw how much trouble I had turning on the stupid lamp. Emotion took a stranglehold on my throat, crushing off all my air.

  I didn’t know how much longer I could keep acting like this disease wasn’t eating me alive, stealing away all my will to go on. I wanted to live so bad! But I didn’t want to live in exhaustion and pain. Not anymore.

  There was a flicker of movement at the edge of my bed. A shadow crept hesitantly toward my face, sliding its way over the lumps and wrinkles of the quilt’s miniature landscape. It had the shape of a snake, straight and skinny in back, with a larger mass up front like a head. Suddenly the head spread apart, taking the distinct form of five outstretched fingers.

  My heart beat hard and fast—but not in fear. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited. It didn’t take long.

  Xavier’s ghostly hand touched my skin, trailing his invisible fingers slowly down my cheek. His gentle touch was like a promise. He would always be there for me, no matter how bad things got. As fear drained from my body, the tightness in my throat loosened, allowing me to breathe again. Xavier’s warmth lifted away. I opened my eyes, searching the empty room for what I knew I could not see.

  Over the last few days, I’d spoken many secrets to Xavier in the darkness of my room. Whispered words that filled up the long, lonely nights. From Xavier’s spirit, I kept nothing.

  Well, almost nothing.

  I still hadn’t told him the bride doll was coming back today.

  “Enough with the moping,” I said to myself firmly. Gritting my teeth, I forced my sluggish body to sit up and placed my unsteady feet on the floor. I sat there for a while, forcing myself to breathe slow and steady, waiting for my strength to return to me.

  “I think it’s time to answer that email Cassandra sent me yesterday, don’t you?” I said for Xavier’s benefit.

  Silence was my only answer.

  Kat hurried into the kitchen just as I was carefully dumping most of my breakfast down the garbage disposal. I was still feeling pretty woozy.

  “Hey, Wren,” Kat said, jerking her head in greeting. “Victoria said you might be in here.”

  “Is your brother with you? I’ll just be a moment,” I said.

  “Look, if Peter gives you too much trouble today, feel free to bring him back to me at any time,” Kat instructed me. “I don’t care what Gabrielle says. If worse comes to worse, we can close up the gift shop early. I can also take him off your hands during my lunch hour—give you a break or something.”

  Kat obviously thought her brother would be too much for me to handle. This only made my resolve stronger. No matter how bad it got, I would not take Peter back to Kat. I mean, how hard could it be?

  Somewhere down the hall, there was a horrific crash followed by the sound of tinkling glass skittering over wood flooring.

  Kat’s eyes went huge, then narrowed down to tiny slits. “I’m. Going. To. Kill. Him.”

  “It might not be Peter,” I said, perhaps a bit too optimistic.

  “It’s Peter. Trust me.” Kat threw the words over her shoulder as she rushed from the room. I trailed after her, much more slowly.

  We found a small boy standing at the end of the hall, a shattered vase lying at his feet. The kid was scrawny and had the look of someone who hadn’t had a decent meal in months. Jaw jutting in full rebellion, he lifted his chin, glaring at both of us—daring us to say anything about the broken vase.

  “What happened?” Kat demanded angrily.

  “I just wanted to see what was inside it. How was I supposed to know the table was wobbly?” Peter’s voice had a slight huskiness to it when he spoke, like he was just getting over a cold.

  Kat ran her fingers
distractedly through her hair. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d picked up the habit from watching Matt do it all the time.

  “Gabrielle is going to freak when she sees this,” she said.

  “So, go and report it to Aunt Victoria first,” I suggested. “She’ll handle Gabrielle.”

  “Good idea.” Kat glanced at her little brother and put one hand on her hip.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose!” he said defensively.

  Grimacing in resignation, Kat gestured helplessly toward the boy with one hand. “Wren, my brother Peter. Peter, Wren.”

  Peter cleared his throat, but didn’t speak, sizing me up through a curtain of shaggy, black hair. I could tell that hair was long because he wanted it to be. Unlike my brother Benji, who had never been able to convince Mom to let him grow his hair long, Peter had obviously come out the victor in his household. This was not the type of kid who could be forced to do anything he didn’t want to.

  “Kat, you go find Aunt Victoria. I’ll take care of Peter,” I said softly.

  “I guess I’d better.” Kat turned to Peter. “Do you need to use the restroom before I go?”

  His gaunt cheeks flared up into a screaming red. “I’m not a baby, Kat! If I have to go, I will!” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, gauging my reaction.

  “He has to go to the bathroom often,” Kat explained to me as if her brother wasn’t there. “It can come on pretty quick sometimes.”

  “Shut up, already,” Peter growled.

  Giving her brother a fierce scowl, Kat nodded once, then hurried off to find Aunt Victoria. The red-faced Peter continued to regard me warily from across the pile of broken glass.

  “This place is boring. It’s full of dolls,” said Peter, scrunching up his nose in disgust.

  “That’s true enough,” I admitted. “Far too many of them, if you ask me.”

  He seemed a little surprised by my ready agreement, so he tried again.

  “I hate it here. I’ve seen everything in this lousy museum a million times!”