“I’m ashamed, Mr. Scott.” And I am. My heart aches in my chest. If I had never gotten involved with this whole stupid thing, Tasha wouldn’t have either. And then she wouldn’t be sitting in the hospital right now.
The key Mr. Scott retrieved is dangling from his finger. He pats me in the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Just try your best to stay out of trouble, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” I sniff.
“I’ll likely give this key to the new night watchman. The school doesn’t want this sort of thing to become commonplace.” His hands rub his bald head, and I see he blames himself for the fiasco.
“That makes sense,” I say.
With a kind, shaky nod, Mr. Scott leaves with his shoulders hunched shyly. It seems strange to see him in something other than the suits he wears to school on a daily basis. I don’t realize that he’s in freshly pressed golf pants and a polo shirt until he’s stepping out the door.
Behind me, Detective Benson clears his throat. “Okay then, Miss Kelly, since neither of your parents was able to pick you up, I’ll be driving you.”
I nod. “Is there any chance you could take me to the hospital instead of my house?”
Detective Benson stands between both Matt and Ben. He frowns. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “No, I just want to see Tasha…to know how she’s doing, if that’s okay?”
“I’m not sure they’ll allow visitors outside of her family, but I’ll take you anyway. Maybe you could at least talk to one of her parents.”
I nod, and my voice cracks when I say, “Thank you.”
He makes all three of us sit in the back of the squad car, a Dodge Charger, and the boys have decided to put me between them. I do my best to shrink in on myself to avoid touching either. I’ve never been too comfortable around boys to begin with, and now that they all think that I’m playing for the other team, it makes it that much more awkward. I’m surprised when Detective Benson parks the car rather than dropping me off at the front of the building. He shuts off the engine and gets out of the car to open the door on the driver’s side.
Matt steps out first.
“Thank you for the ride, Detective Benson,” I say.
He makes a motion for Ben to get out of the car, too. “No problem, Chira. I’m going to see how Tasha is doing myself, and see if she’s able to give a statement.”
I nod, and we head into the hospital. The detective gives info at the front desk and shows his badge which grants us access that I probably wouldn’t have been able to gain on my own. It makes me wonder if maybe he already knew that, and it was a reason he’d come along in the first place.
When I’m standing in the back of the elevator, I lean against the cool metal bar and watch the three family members from behind. Matt is a little shorter and stockier than Ben. Although they both have dark hair, Ben’s is longer and has a slight curl to it.
I choke down a sob when we reach the intensive care unit. The hallways in the hospital have windows along one full side that stretch from floor to ceiling. Outside, in the dark, the city lights shine like millions of stars. We head toward the waiting room, where we find Mrs. Brown. I can’t hold back the tears.
As soon as he sees me, Kevin speeds for me and wraps his arms around my thigh. He’s crying too, and his wails grow louder as he squeezes me. I kneel down so I can hold him in my arms.
Mrs. Brown’s heels click against the tile floor as she approaches. “Chira, it’s so good of you to come. Matt, Ben, Junior…I’m glad to see you all. Thank you for coming.”
Her voice sounds so welcoming and professional, but I detect the quiver in her words. I stand up, still holding Kevin, and he wraps his legs around my waist. He buries his head in my shoulder, but he’s calmed down a bit already.
“How is Tasha doing?” the detective asks.
I’m really glad he’s here. Without him, how would I even be able to speak? I’d spend all my time sitting around, sobbing like an idiot…if they had even let me come up here to the ICU in the first place.
“She’s stable, but she’s in a chemically induced coma for her body to heal. Her lung has collapsed.”
Phantom pain snakes across my chest and constricts me tighter than Kevin’s legs. I hurt for her. How could I have let this happen to Tasha? I whisper, “I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Brown wraps her arms around me and Kevin. It comforts me but does nothing to assuage my guilt. I continue to sob. She squeezes me harder. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. Please don’t blame yourself.”
But her words can’t comfort me either. Parents lie. Even Tasha’s. They’ll say anything to try to make you feel better. Anything that will take away your discomfort, no matter how temporary it will be. I don’t care how many times my own mother has told me things would be okay—they were never okay after my father died.
It’s when I feel Mrs. Brown’s own shoulders shaking with sobs that determination stiffens my backbone, and I do my best to suck it up. I need to be strong, for Tasha, for Mrs. Brown. Even for Kevin. I can do this. “Tell me what you need Mrs. Brown, and I’ll do it. Does Tasha need anything? You? Do you need someone to help you take care of Kevin?”
“No, sweetie. Kevin’s grandmother is on her way to help us with that. Don’t worry about anything at all. You have been nothing but a good friend to Tasha.” Mrs. Brown swipes her eyes. Her face is masked with a warm smile that turns mildly determined. “I know this was her idea, and you just got dragged along in it. When that girl wakes up, she’s going to be grounded for life.”
I smile. Mrs. Brown’s determination comforts me more than any of her other words could. If she’s certain that Tasha will be okay, then I believe her. “Okay. But can I visit. Will they let me?”
She leans in toward me and lowers her voice. “You’ll be able to visit her any time, but there’s no more than two allowed to visit at once. I put you down as her cousin.”
I frown and lift an eyebrow. “How’s that going to work?”
A look of mock shock registers on her face. “What? Can’t I have a white cousin? Do you think all of my family members are black? You’d be mistaken.”
I shake my head and sniff again, wiping my face with the cuff of my sleeve. I’ve done way too much crying today.
“Mrs. Brown, could I have a word please?” Detective Benson asks. The two of them step over toward the window down the hall a little ways, their heads bent in conversation.
Kevin has settled into playing with one of the buttons on the portion of shirt visible in the v-neck of my sweater. Matt and Ben have both taken seats in the waiting area, and I join them.
Matt leans toward me, his face holding a cautious, concentrated expression. “So did you guys really see a ghost?”
Even Ben turns toward me with his measured gaze. The edges of his colored contact lenses catch my eye again, and the obsessive part of me really wants to know why he wears them.
Kevin stops messing with my button and looks up at me with wide eyes. He sniffs, too. “Did you really see a ghost?”
I glare at Matt. “You know, this isn’t really the best time to be talking about this.”
Matt's expression takes on a look of hurt, and he sits back in his chair.
Kevin wiggles from my lap and calls, “Daddy!”
Mr. Brown approaches us, having just come from inside the main ICU. He kneels down and catches his son up in his arms. His usually smiling face seems forced today, and worry lines mar his normally smooth forehead. “Have you been a good boy?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” Mr. Brown nods toward me and the boys, saying hi and calling us each by name.
“Honey, could you come here for a second?” Mrs. Brown calls from down the hall.
Mr. Brown excuses himself and joins the others. All three of them lean in a deep conversation that we aren’t privy to.
“How about now? Is it a good time?” Matt’s leg bobs up and down in anticipation.
I roll my eyes.
“Fine. Yes. There really was a ghost.”
He leans back, a shocked expression on his face. Ben’s position and expression remain unchanged.
“We went through the music room and saw that the piano was in really bad shape…” I recount the events for the two boys. I feel detached as I’m talking to them. Like I’m telling them about a movie that I saw instead of what had happened to me. My eyes become unfocused on my surroundings, and I can’t even hear the nurse’s station anymore—like I’m hypnotized by the sound of my own voice.
But I find my gaze constantly drifting toward Ben. He’s listening intently, but his expression tells me that it’s okay somehow. He’s not judging me—he’s just listening.
When I’m done, I sniffle again. My nose is running worse now.
Matt bites his lip, and his nervous leg jostle returns. “This really happened. The Old Schoolhouse is really haunted. I wonder if we could communicate with the spirits through a séance.”
Ben huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s the first time that he looks dubious.
Matt notices too and narrows his eyes on his cousin. “What the hell do you know?”
Ben’s jaw tightens and his voice sounds hard and raspy, somehow even deeper than usual because it’s low. “There are only two kinds of haunting. Impressions and possessions. This is clearly an impression.”
“Huh?”
“There are no such things as ghosts in the sense that Hollywood and charlatans attempt to propagate. They cannot be communicated with.”
My mouth falls open. Ben speaks with such authority that I can’t help but believe him.
But Matt shakes his head. “Just because you were raised by monks for a while doesn’t make you an expert on everything spiritual. What Chira just said is eye-witness proof.”
“Proof of an impression.” Ben leans in. “What she just described was like a movie on replay. The impression of a life was imprinted in the place where violence occurred. That much is obvious. That’s the first sort of ‘ghost.’”
Monks? Did Matt just say monks? Monks and owls? Ben seems to have quite a strange upbringing for sure. I nod. “That actually makes sense. The girl looked like she’d been hurt, and she ran through us like we weren’t there.”
“Exactly.”
Matt frowns. “Okay, know-it-all. What about the other kind…possession?”
“Often people have demons infecting their lives. Familial demons that follow around a family for generations can often haunt them or a family home. Demons who don’t want to let go of a particularly violent host may also remain where the host last resided. A possession haunting is not the spirit of someone who was once living. It is a demon and can only be removed through exorcism.”
Matt swallows. He’s gone pale again.
And I’m a little freaked out as well. “How do you know so much? Did the monks teach you that?”
Ben’s eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens. Without another word, he gets up and walks away.
I blink hard and look at Matt. “Was it something I said?”
Matt snaps out of his terrified stupor and shakes his head. “I rag him about the monks all the time, but he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”
“Monks, like, for real? Where on earth was that at?”
“In Europe somewhere. I don’t really know.”
Mrs. Brown puts a hand on my arm, and her sudden presence makes me jump. “Chira, would you like to visit with Tasha now?”
Relief, fear, and elation wrestle each other in my chest. “Yes.”
Tasha’s small room has a window facing a separate nurse’s area where the lights are off. A nurse sits at the desk and has full view of four different observation rooms at once. I see my friend long before we actually step into the small space where she lies. At five-foot-one, Tasha has always been small to me, but with tubes sticking out of her face and arms and with a blanket pulled up to her waist, she looks downright tiny. The sight of her constricts my throat again, but my eyes stay dry. Instead my nose runs more.
Mrs. Brown’s arm remains around my shoulder as we walk through the open doorway. She nods toward the chair that sits next to Tasha’s side. “Go ahead, sweetie.”
I nod and take the seat. The constant beeping of the heart monitor is reassuring, but annoying at once. I take Tasha’s hand in mine and am stricken by her chilled fingers. “Hey, girl. You don’t look so hot there.”
Her skin looks slightly ashen. I wonder how much blood she’s lost. Mrs. Brown gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got fifteen minutes until they close visitor hours.”
I bite my lip and nod.
Then Mrs. Brown leaves me alone with my best friend.
I turn toward her and listen to the beeping and the steady rhythm of the breathing machine next to her. Anger wells up in the pit of my stomach. “Why do you always have to be such a chicken? You’re tougher than that, you know? I was right there next to you. It’s not like I would have let anything happen to you. You’ve got my back, and I have yours. Isn’t that what we always agreed on?”
I’m whisper shouting, and the strain on my throat makes it ache. “I can’t believe you ran. You wouldn’t wait for me. And it really hurt. I really felt abandoned. But what’s worse is that when I couldn’t keep up with you, I felt like I was the one abandoning you. Like I was the one who wasn’t there for you when you needed me. And that made me feel…like crap, you know?”
Tears run down my cheeks, proving that I wasn’t quite dry yet.
“You better get well and fast. I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive you if you don’t.” My voice cracks, and a knot gets lodged in it. I can’t say anything else, so I just squeeze her limp hand.
I SLIP INTO MY DESK in first period the next day at school, feeling like I’m dragging my body around like it weighs twenty pounds more than it did yesterday. Throughout class, I can’t stop staring at the empty desk in front of mine. My hands seem to work of their own accord, taking notes while my ears listen to the teacher, but my mind is elsewhere. It’s like when I’m distracted while reading a book and find myself having read the same paragraph three times, and forgetting it immediately afterward.
My first three classes go this way, and when the bell rings for lunch block, I continue to sit at my desk until everyone else has left. A hand rests on my shoulder, and then Mrs. Blaylock, my geometry teacher, sits at the desk in front of me. Tasha’s desk.
“Look, Chira, I know that something very traumatic happened to you yesterday, but you’re going to have to buck up under the pressure. You can’t let things get to you so hard. She’s going to be all right.”
How can I trust her? She’s probably a parent, too—more lies.
But still, I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
One of Mrs. Blaylock’s penciled eyebrows lift. It is rumored that the heavyset middle-aged woman had been a model. Her garish make up and obvious plastic surgery make it obvious that she’s at least a little vain. “Sure you are, but just in case, maybe you should go see the school counselor?”
My stomach drops like I’m on a rollercoaster. That’s just what I need is for everyone to decide I’m crazy on top of everything else they label me. I shake my head and smile bigger, standing up and shoving my book into my messenger bag. “Really, Mrs. Blaylock. Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. I’m just really tired from staying up late last night. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow. You’ll see.”
She gives me a cautious once over and then nods. “Okay, Chira. I’ll take your word for it. But if I don’t see a marked improvement quickly, I’ll write up that recommendation.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rush out of her classroom as fast as my feet can take me. The hallways are already desolate, and the bell rings the moment the door behind me shuts. Technically I could get in trouble for still being out in the hall. I start walking. But heading to the cafeteria has totally lost its appeal. I’m not hungry, and without Tasha…I’ll feel her absence
that much more. When I get to the stairwell, I head up instead of down.
What am I doing? I don’t really care if Ben’s up there or not. I’d rather be alone, to tell you the truth. But a spark within me still hopes that he’ll be there.
The wind pushes against the door, so it takes all of my strength to get it open. The moment I step aside, it slams shut behind me. I close my eyes at the loud bang. Anyone in the hall or stairwell will know where I am now.
“Are you following me again, Sniffles?”
The deep timbre of Ben’s voice rings the core within me, and somehow it comforts me. I feel a little better. I don’t know why. He’s standing at the chain-link fence, the owl plucking jerky from his hand.
I lean back against the cold metal panel of the door, the wind whipping the hair from my face. The sky is grey today, like my mood. I shrug. “Actually, no. I sort of hoped to be here alone.”
He nods and gives the last of his jerky to the bird. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His red tie hangs from one of his pockets, flapping in the wind like a dog’s tongue, and his white school shirt is untucked. The breeze has made his hair even more messy than usual. “Okay, no problem. I’ll go.”
His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the door handle. My hand reaches out of its own accord and grips his forearm. “Wait.”
Pine and mint…and a touch of beef jerky. But he stops, his hand still on the door handle. He hasn’t taken a step; he hasn’t pulled his arm from my grasp.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m feeling brave for some reason. Maybe it’s not bravery. Maybe it’s just that I don’t care about the consequences right now. So I blurt, “Your name’s Ben. But your uncle and cousin’s last name is Benson. How does that work?”
I didn’t realize how tense his muscular arm is until he relaxes it.
“My uncle is on my mom’s side. Her last name was Benson, and she named me that.”
“So Ben is short for Benson, not Benjamin?”
He quirks a half smile and nods.
First Impression (A Shadow Maven Paranormal) Page 4