But my energy spark is off. I'm having one hell of a time bonding, no matter how hard I concentrate. I hold my breath, but that does no good. I strain, my muscles seriously burning ... nothing. I don't know what's wrong. I've never had trouble seeing a spirit's past or what they need from me when they specifically seek me out. Maybe it's all the stress and anxiety of this retreat and wanting to fit in with the other kids.
"Can I help you, sweetie?" I hear behind me.
Coming down the path is one of the counselors. She's on the lookout for me, like I've sent some sort of beacon of need out to the universe. Hmmm ... maybe I did and didn't even know it.
There stands Heidi, all tiny and sweet with her kind eyes and her hands spread out, palms up. "You need a jump-start," she says.
"What do you mean?"
"I sense there's a strong spirit energy here. It's a young woman. And she needs you, doesn't she, Kendall?"
I nod as I simultaneously gulp down hard.
"Sit back," Heidi instructs. "Let me give you some energy."
Hailey waits patiently, not even acknowledging Heidi's presence.
My eyes shut as I try to center my breathing and just ... relax. Soon, I'm aware of Heidi's energy pressing into me, giving me a jolt of oomph to help me see clearly into the mind of Hailey. It's hard to put it into words exactly. It's like there's a Blooming Onion of voltage spreading across my palms, shooting massive kilowatts out in all directions.
"Holy crap! That's amazing," I shout, even though the words aren't even close to explaining what I feel. It's like Heidi attached jumper cables to me and gave my psychic battery a wicked-mondo charge. When I turn to thank her, she's not there anymore. She's quietly slipped away. That's okay. I need to attend to Hailey's needs.
I can do this now.
Visions of the young girl dance in my head, like the chorus of a Broadway musical. Flashes. Images. Memories that are hers; ones she's sharing with me. I am Spock. My mind-meld is complete as I watch Hailey's young life zip through my head like I lived it myself.
The watercolor of imagery appears to me. The olive green house she grew up in on Dudley Road. Her room was the one in the front with the large picture window. Her stuffed dog named Duchess was lost on a family vacation in Alexandria, Virginia, even though her father called the Howard Johnson's to see if they'd found it. A tricycle with big orange wheels that she loved so much she parked it next to her bed every night...
The mist in my mind shifts, and Hailey's a bit older. Close to the age she appears now. Fifteen. Just a couple of years younger than I am. School's a challenge; it often is when you're an undiagnosed dyslexic. But she's having a good time with her friends. With her Jack Russell terriers, Meadow and Jacky. She's popular in her group. They hang out. Play Wii. Watch movies from downloaded torrents. Popcorn from the microwave and rivers of soda.
The amusement alters, though...
A new boy in town. Leather and a Mustang. He emanates coolness. And trouble. He's readily accepted into the clique and now her friends want to explore other options.
I gag slightly. The acrid taste of barley and hops floods the back of my mouth. Bleck! I've never been a fan of beer. That unforgettable taste is prominent in my mouth, which means it's something Hailey imbibed.
"Why?"
"We all did it," she says to me.
It's more than a rite of passage, though. I'm certainly not sitting on any kind of judgment throne. Kids do things all the time that they're not supposed to. Doesn't make it right. And in this case, it may have caused a terrible ending for Hailey.
I rush to finish this narrative. It's like reading a bestseller and not being able to turn the pages fast enough. I see Hailey. She's dressed as she is now, but her hair and makeup aren't in disarray. There's no tear in her jeans ... yet. My head swims in the haziness that is the beer buzz she's experiencing. In my mind, I beg Hailey to show me what happened.
She's in a tree-filled area. Great. That could be anywhere.
"Show me, Hailey. Show me."
She's running now, as fast as she can, but it's not fast enough.
Is something chasing her? Does something want to hurt her? Or are they trying to stop her from harming herself? It's not clear and all I want to do is wipe away the confusion.
Then it sounds out in my ears. A scream so painfully high that I can't believe it's wrenched out of Hailey. Her fear envelops me from head to toe. Yet I can't move. I can't see through the cobwebbed information Hailey's trying to share. Why am I not able to zero in on this and see what she's experiencing? I flail my arms around, like that's going to help. Her shriek amplifies. Which direction did it come from? All the trees look alike on my left, my right, in front of me. I know something horrible is going on with Hailey, but I can't make it out. There's only haze and confusion. I'm agonizingly aware of one thing: nothing in me can do anything to stop what's apparently happening to Hailey behind the closed curtains of my vision.
Violent coughs rip through me, and I want to throw up. Bile fills my throat and I retch dry heaves. I sputter and gag, grab at my throat like my fingers can pry open the skin and let fresh air in. Is this coming from Hailey? Did this happen to her? Or is some not-so-friendly entity thrusting yet another roadblock in my way to prevent me from helping this young girl? Just as I'm thinking that I'll pass out if someone doesn't Heimlich maneuver me, firm arms grab me and I hear my name called over and over.
"Kendall! Kendall! Damnit, talk to me!"
I force my vision to the present, pushing the mustiness of confusion away. I'm being shaken violently. Patrick stands over me, leather-clad hands clutching my upper arms. I focus on his deep, dark eyes, and the battery charge that Heidi gave me is nothing compared to this spark of radioactivity that zips between us.
After a mere second, Patrick releases me with such fierceness that I think he's pissed off. He's not, though. His gloved hand shoots to cover his mouth and then rubs at the stubble around his chin.
Hailey's gone, but not forgotten. The vision has cleared. My hacking cough has ended.
Patrick paces in front of me; he's acting as if he wants to speak, but no words leave his mouth. Shock and awe covers his face, and I read his expression like it's a text message. Then it hits me like a tsunami. "Did you see it too?"
"See what?" he asks without making eye contact.
I stand on wobbly legs, gripping the bench for support. "That ... that vision I just had."
His annoyance returns. "What the hell were you doing out here, Kendall? What were you trying to prove?"
I place my hands on my hips defiantly. "I was connecting with the spirit I've been seeing since I got to Rose Briar."
"Yeah, well, you didn't have to go into such a deep channel."
"I wasn't channeling," I explain. "We were sort of doing a mind-meld. She was trying to show me what happened to her."
Patrick lowers his gaze to mine again but is quick to shift away and peer out at the mountains. "Her name is Hailey."
"Yes, it is," I manage to get out in a hoarse breath.
"I've seen her too."
I move my hair away from my face as my chest rises and falls in rapid motions. "Why are we both seeing her? That vision ... it was ... intense. Confusing and ambiguous, but intense. There's something she wants me to know. I just can't grasp it."
"I can't grasp it either," he says.
"What do we do? This spirit is desperate for help."
Patrick slips his sunglasses back into place, hiding his eyes. "And she seems to think you and I are the ones destined to help her."
If that's the case, Lord, give me strength.
Chapter Fourteen
"HEY, YOU OKAY, Kendall?"
I roll over and squint up at my roommate. "Yeah, Jess. I was just wiped." The clock reads 6:00 and I know I need to wake up and get ready for dinner. Connecting with spirits like I did with Hailey always wears the hell out of me. It's like I ran a marathon, or two. There was no way I could go back to the conference room after so
mething like that.
Fortunately, I had two hours of dreamless sleep.
"Did I miss anything interesting?" I ask through a yawn.
Jess reaches for her hairbrush and drags it through her blond hair. "Micah is clairvoyant, the Pucketts are all seeing, hearing, and sensing things, and Carl has been awfully good at picking lottery numbers lately."
I giggle. "I need to get some tips from him for the old college fund."
"Seriously," she says with a small snort. "The best of all though ... you'll love it. Get this: turns out Greg Swanner has been seeing these creatures in the woods around his house."
Sitting up, I say, "Oh, yeah? Like what?"
Waving the brush around in the air, Jess says, "He was telling us this legend his grandfather told him about a witch in the area that turns into a large cat with yellow eyes that only preys on males. Apparently, Greg was out hunting with some friends and he saw this ... thing. Then he saw it one night after a football game. And he said it followed him home after a night of mud riding."
"Mud riding?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Surfing on muddy roads in your car. That's not the point, Kendall."
"Oh, sorry," I say, furrowing my brow. And I thought the nightlife in Radisson was a bit dull, what with some of the older local kids playing drunk hide-and-seek in the aisles of Mega-Mart.
Jess says, "So, Greg's the only person seeing this thing and all his pals think he's a nut ball. He's lost a lot of friends because of it. And he's like a popular guy, you know, with the football thing, and being a baseball player. He's afraid the coach is going to get word of it and kick him off the team and he won't get the scholarship he wants to the University of Alabama."
"That totally sucks," I say, feeling Greg's pain. "It's stupid what you get ostracized for."
"No kidding," she says softly.
I swing my legs off the bed and shove my feet into my flip-flops. "What did Oliver have to say?"
"Oh, he and Mary were talking about cryptozoology and how there are so many creatures on this planet that haven't been classified. You know, like Sasquatch or Chupacabra or the Loch Ness monster?"
"Chupa-who-a?"
"Chupacabra. It translates to 'goat sucker.' It's this weird creature that's, like, part dog and part coyote and part wild boar, and it's got a spiny back and long tail."
"That sounds disgusting."
"Well, it's one of those things that people hunt and try to find."
I grin at my roomie. "You really listened in class today, didn't you."
She tosses her head and laughs. "Yeah, I did. Anyway, you totally missed it. Oliver brought out some slides of all these animals/creatures that are thought to be walking among us. Wisdom Walker has even heard of this yellow-eyed large cat that Greg is seeing. Hold on." She snags her notebook and flips the pages. "Here it is. It's called the wampus cat and it's supposed to be all over the South."
"That's the most asinine—" I stop myself, considering how many spirits I've connected with. Who's to say this wampus cat thingy doesn't really exist?
"You were saying?" Jess asks.
"Nothing. Go ahead."
"Wisdom Walker told us the story of the wampus cat. This Indian woman followed the men into the woods when they went out on the hunt. She hid under the skin of a mountain lion and listened to all the stories they told around the fire. When the men discovered her, the medicine man bound her to the cat's skin, and that's how she walks today."
"But none of Greg's other friends saw it?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. Just him. Poor guy."
"I know how he feels."
Jess reaches over and pats my knee. "You do, don't you."
"That's why we're here. We all have our burdens to bear."
"Or maybe they truly are talents, you know?" Jess tips her head to the side. "I think I understand what Oliver is talking about with this whole lifting-of-a-veil thing and our society being more open to all that's around us. It's an awfully big world. Wouldn't it be sad if we weren't sharing it with someone?"
Nodding in agreement, I say, "You have an excellent point there, my friend."
She stands and examines her teeth in the mirror, making funny faces at herself. "The cool thing is, Greg's not afraid of seeing it anymore and he doesn't care what people think. Even though he wants to go to college on scholarship, he wants to study this more. Oliver and Wisdom Walker told him he should look into classes on folklore and biology and zoology and other history. There's this paleontologist guy at the Florida Keys Community College that teaches about cryptozoology, so if Greg—or any of us—is interested in an intro, Oliver said he'd totally do it."
Stunned, I rock back and forth for a moment. "Shit. I missed everything."
"Not really," Jess notes. "Not everyone in the session fully admitted their ... enlightenment."
My eyebrows lift in curiosity. "Oh, yeah?"
"Mr. Sunglasses and Gloves still won't fess up to anything."
"Patrick?"
"Yeah, your boyfriend," she teases. "He just sat there most of the time twirling a pen in his fingers." She stops and remembers. "Come to think of it, he bolted out of the room like Satan was on his heels at some point and didn't come back."
That would have been when he and I connected psychically or whatever it is we're doing.
Jess dives across the bed and lands next to me. "You two hooked up, didn't you!" "No! I swear we didn't!"
Jess frowns and inspects my aura. "Damn, no pink. I was hoping for a juicy story."
"Sorry to disappoint you. No hooking up here." I stuff down the embarrassment over wanting to add the word yet. "I just needed some time to myself."
"Perfectly understandable, kiddo. As Oliver said from the get-go, we're all here to take from this retreat what we need. And what I need is food." She flips over in a near gymnastic move and both of her feet hit the floor. "Let's go eat! Chris is making pork tamales."
My traitorous stomach responds for me and I laugh. I swear, with the gourmet meals Chris is feeding us three times a day, I'm going to be the size of a house. Oh, well. "Bring on the food!"
After dinner, the inevitable pairing-up begins again. I guess that's just what happens when boys and girls fraternize. It's as old as Adam and Eve. Course, look where it got them.
Speedy is sleeping on the sixth step down from the inn, and the cats are out on their evening prowl. Oliver is involved in some closed-door meetings with the counselors, and the La'Costons are camped in front of their plasma television watching one of those singing-and-dancing reality contests, which I'll never understand the appeal of.
I spot Willow and TF disappearing around the back of the inn, while Micah and Jess, Greg and Harper, and Erin and Ricky all get into the hot tub, which is already bubbling and steaming at full force. I could certainly go for the relaxation of the Jacuzzi, but I don't want to be a fifth wheel.
Maddie pads by in her swimsuit, a towel draped over her arm. She stops, though, and looks like she doesn't want to interrupt the couples either. "We're thinking the same thing, aren't we?" she asks.
"Probably so," I say with a smile.
"I really love my boyfriend at home," she confesses. "He's so cute and I'd never do anything to make him not trust me."
I think for one fleeting millisecond about Jason and how I haven't heard squat from him. I know he lives all the way up in Alaska, but last I checked, it was still one of the fifty states and people up there do have phones and Internet service. I mean, his sister found the time to text me and send me e-mails (okay, they were mostly forwarded jokes that I've seen a hundred times already, but still), and yet he can't seem to remember my phone number. Well, the hell with him!
Maddie smiles and touches my arm. "I'm sure he's thinking of you." When my eyes widen at her, she apologizes. "Sorry, it's that whole clairvoyant thing."
"No worries. Par for the course with this group." I pause for a moment and then finally admit what I've been unwilling to say out loud. Sure, I know Jason had to mo
ve to Alaska with his dad, but the breakup was inevitable. We were too different. On diverging paths. "It's okay," I tell Maddie. "I'm over him"
"Do we ever really get over that first love?" she asks seriously.
I lick my lips briefly, and without missing a beat, I say, "I certainly hope so."
My ears pick up the strains of a guitar. Maddie winks at me and giggles. "Now there's someone who's broken a lot of hearts, I bet."
"Oh, I'm sure."
With a nudge of her elbow, she says, "Maybe you should go see what you can do about mending his."
I roll my eyes and trot up the stairs toward the music—careful to step over the snoring papillon pup.
A crackling orangy-white blaze is going in the fire pit and Patrick sits with his back to me as he strums out R.E.M.'s "The One I Love."
"Anyone I know?" I ask coyly, making my presence known. "Will wonders never cease! I actually get a genuine laugh from Patrick Lynn." I flop down on the cushioned chaise next to him in victory. "Damn, I'm good."
"Whatever, Moorehead," he says as he continues to pluck out the song. "There's no one I love other than my family. I'm too screwed up to involve myself in anyone else's life."
"Ahhh ... he speaks out on how his abilities are affecting his world. Just what are his abilities, one has to wonder." I have no clue why I'm speaking like some voice-over dude, but humor seems to be the elixir that's working on this complicated guy right now.
Patrick adjusts the guitar on his thigh and stretches out his jeaned leg. He's not wearing the glasses, gloves, or knit hat. I would say his guard is seriously down right now. Not that I'm going to take advantage of it—okay, maybe just a little bit.
In the darkness, the firelight dances and casts shadows from his eyelashes onto his cheeks. His shaggy black hair blows in the slight breeze as his chocolate eyes sharpen on a distant object. I watch hypnotized as his fingers pluck the strings, sending out the song Cel, Becca, Taylor, and I have tried to master on Guitar Hero. I've got the drum part down, and Taylor is a real natural on the vocals, but Cel and Becca could totally compete against the best at playing the R.E.M. hit song. As Patrick continues, I hum along, trying not to distract him. Instead of telling me to shush or go away, he sings softly with me, harmonizing here and there, our voices blending together in a swirling, melodious way that gives me chill bumps even though I'm sitting in front of a crackling fire.
The Counseling Page 11