Our attention was quickly diverted back to the sky as a loud boom rocked the ground and a huge explosion of oranges, reds, and blues painted the sky. This wave of fireworks sounded more like bombs going off and their colors were more vibrant and illuminating. With our eyes focused on the sky, Noah’s hold on me grew even tighter. Thankful, I sighed, inhaling his sweet aroma, and enjoying the feel of his strong arms around me. This was a moment I never wanted to forget–ever.
Noah leaned down again, and he began to whisper in a tone so low only I could decipher what he was saying. "This is it, isn’t it?" he asked.
I glanced up and smiled as I took everything about him in. His beautiful eyes, tanned face, and sloppy hair made him incredibly irresistible.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"This moment," he began, still whispering in a deep, low voice. "This is one of those moments you know you’ll never forget. Look around–we’re together and in love and there are literally fireworks going off, just like in one of those romantic movies you watch. This is the perfect moment, and it’s perfect because I’m here, with you." He said these words with such warmth and love that I almost cried tears of joy.
I still didn’t understand what I’d done right in the world to deserve someone like Noah. Maybe he was my good karma for all the lost, dead souls I’d helped move on in my years as a messenger to the dead. Either way, I didn’t feel worthy of his love.
"You’re right, Noah. This is the perfect moment. I’m so glad I get to spend it with you." As I spoke, I stood on my tiptoes, my lips lightly caressing his neck. I didn’t care who saw us. All I cared about was soaking in the amazing feeling of being with Noah.
We stayed outside well after all of the guests had left and after all of the party had been cleaned up and Lucy and my aunt and uncle had gone to bed. That night, Noah and I stayed up until the sun began to rise over the horizon. We talked about that night, about when we’d first met, and our future plans for college.
It was the first time I’d ever spent all night talking with someone. It was the first time I’d witnessed the sunrise, a glorious sight that everyone should see at least once in their lifetimes. It was also the first time in a very, very long time I’d lived through a night without being haunted by the dead.
Chapter Eleven
"Do you really have to leave?" I asked, pouting as I held Noah close in my arms.
I inhaled his perfect scent, trying to take in everything about him. My uncle was placing Noah’s luggage in the back of a cab as we stood on the front porch.
My heart broke a little, as I knew I couldn’t make him stay. "Sadie, you know I don’t want to go, but I promised my parents and my boss I’d only be gone for three weeks. I have to save money this year to help pay for my car and being away longer than a month would be really bad for my bank account. I promise I’ll call every day." He squeezed me tightly and kissed me softly on the top of my head.
I inhaled once more, taking in the last few moments I’d have with Noah for a while. "I know you have to leave. I just don’t want to let you go," I whined.
Noah bent down to pet Max who looked just as sad as I did to see Noah go.
The cab driver honked his horn, notifying us that he was impatient to go.
"I’ll call as soon as I land," he said, and gave me one last kiss on my lips before he ran down the porch steps and jumped into the back of the cab.
All I could do was to wave goodbye as I watched the yellow cab speed away.
Lucy came up from behind me and put her arms around my shoulders.
"I know you wanted him to stay, but we only have a few more weeks left before we go home, too. Besides, it’ll be fun having my best friend all to myself," Lucy said.
"Yeah, you are right," I replied. "I’m going to stop being a big baby now, so we can get to work."
We left the porch and followed the pathway that led to the small office building on the property where we found Aunt Morgan, who had us filing bills and legal forms for the farm in no time. I was thankful for the distraction and the opportunity to catch up with Lucy while we filed the papers.
After two hours of filing, we broke for lunch and Aunt Morgan let us have the rest of the afternoon to ourselves. Lucy decided to take a long nap while I went to search through the attic again. My mind raced, trying to figure out what I might have missed.
I went back to the old trunk where I’d found the photographs of the girl. I continued to flip through the album, making mental notes of the faces of her family members. In barely legible ink, the name, Bethany, had been written beneath one of the pictures.
So that was her name: Bethany. It was strange watching this girl’s metamorphosis from a happy, smiling girl to an angry, resentful ghost. Lucy and Noah were right: something tragic must have happened to make her change like that.
I searched through the rest of the trunk and came upon an old, wooden box. When I lifted it out into the light, I noticed it was lightweight and small. Memories of the previous year began to replay in my head. This situation felt strangely familiar–almost too familiar.
It was only a few months ago I’d come across Elizabeth’s journal, filled with her story and personal fears. It had captivated me and almost gotten me killed. A part of me wanted to leave the wooden box back where I found it because of it.
Another part of me–a much larger part– refused to ignore my curiosity. I knew something important was hidden inside, I just knew it. My gut instinct screamed at me to open the lid, so I did, and found a dozen yellowed envelopes that had already been opened. Each one had the wrinkles and tears of years of reading and reviewing.
Each of the envelopes contained a letter. Again, that sickening familiar, sinking feeling returned. I stopped, took a deep breath, and mentally prepared myself for what I was might find as I reached in and pulled out the first letter. It was old–very old. The once white paper was now a wilted yellow, and the ink had faded to almost transparent. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone and turned on the flashlight app so I could read the writing:
My dear Bethany,
I hope you are doing well. Being away from my family has been very difficult, especially since I can only write every few weeks. I hope you and Melanie are getting along. I know, when I left, you were at odds with each other. I wish you would have told me why.
Anyway, the war is progressing, and I believe I will soon be back at Camp Nelson. I feel very strongly the war will be over soon as the South is beginning to buckle under our attacks.
I miss you more than words can express, and I know we will be together again soon. When I return home, we will marry, and spend the rest of our lives together.
All my love,
William
I felt a tug at my heart. Bethany had waited for William to return, but he didn’t. Not only was he a sweet romantic, writing her love letters while he was away, but he was also concerned about her friendships, too. I sighed and searched through the box to find another letter:
Bethany,
Every day I am away from you is torture. I am beginning to feel homesick. I miss my family, but most of all, I miss you. Your letters come every few weeks, and they bring me happiness in this world of turmoil. I hope the war ends soon so that I can return to you and we can marry. Have you begun to plan the details for our ceremony? I believe out by the pond would be a beautiful location.
I love you with all my heart,
William
Reading the second letter only served to confirm that Bethany was stuck on this earth because her heart ached for William. Of course, she couldn’t move on–she’d left behind someone she loved very much. She may not know where he is. Her heart must have shattered losing someone she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with. As much as I cared for Noah, I couldn’t imagine the pain she must have been going through.
The air around me suddenly grew cold until I was able to see my breath exhale in large, white puffs.
My body tingled with an all to
o familiar feeling. I stood up to examine the close space. I knew, at any moment, I would see someone who would scare me to death.
"Hello?" I yelled, watching as the air continued to grow thick with fog.
A young woman materialized before me, standing there with her arms crossed. Her long, navy blue dress clung tightly to her petite frame as she stood firm in her stance. Her icy blue eyes bore into my soul, making me shiver from fright, more than the cold air that she was creating around her. Her face reminded me of a classic mannequin, porcelain-like, with beautiful polished features. Her skin was soft and cream-colored, her blonde hair hanging in loose curls around her shoulders. Everything about her looks seemed calm, but her eyes told a story of pain and hatred.
"So, you’re showing yourself to me now?" I stated, my arms crossed to showing my frustration, mirroring her stance. She must be Bethany.
"You can see me?" she asked. A curious expression grew on her face.
I could tell by the look that most of the people she’d haunted were unable to see her. I wasn’t sure if she liked the fact I could see and communicate with her, or if it ruined her fun.
"Yes, I can see you now," I began, my smile fading. I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back the anger I longed to unleash on her. "I also saw you when you shook my Ferris wheel car and when you tried to drown me in the bathtub. I can see people who are deceased; I’m sort of a messenger to the dead." I tried to sound clear and tough, but I was angry with this girl for everything she’d put me through. This might be a game to her, but it was my life.
"What is a messenger to the dead?" she asked in a snotty tone that only fed the rage growing inside of me.
By the way she looked at me, I could tell she thought I was the strange one. Her eyes scanned my short jean shorts, tight black tank top, and hair, which was pulled back into a messy ponytail. I looked down at myself and felt suddenly self-conscious, even though I was dressed more appropriately for the Southern heat than she was.
"It’s my job. It’s what I do," I stated, almost growling the words. I was desperately trying to keep calm as I stood with the girl that had tried to kill me twice so far.
She watched me as I glanced around the attic space, hoping she didn’t see the letters I’d found and was now trying to conceal. I hid the box behind my back and took a few slow steps back. Bethany must have noticed the change in me because she lunged forward, causing me to drop the tiny box which fell on the floor, the lid opened to reveal its contents. Bethany gasped, and tried to stuff the letters back inside the box.
She exhaled and spoke in an eerily calm voice. "You need to leave. This isn’t your home," she stated, a deep scowl appearing on her beautiful face. "You have no right searching through someone else’s things. These letters are private. They are none of your business." She put the box back inside the trunk and slammed the lid shut with finality. I could see the pleasantries had ended and she was about to get down to business. This felt more like a high school girl fight than anything else.
In an effort to diffuse the tension growing around us, I tried to use a different approach. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop or invade your privacy,” I said. "I was just trying to find out why you were so upset." My voice trailed off as I watched her stalk across the attic toward the window.
Bethany peered through the window and seemed to grow detached. She sighed and watched the living world outside. Her peaceful demeanor made her seem fragile, which was a strange contrast to the recent behavior I’d witnessed.
I decided to take this opportunity of relative calmness to continue prying. "Why do you want me to leave?" I asked sternly, trying to stand tall, so she wouldn’t sense my fear. I’d dealt with my fair share of angry dead girls before, but this girl seemed dangerous. She had nothing left to lose and that was terrifying.
The girl turned to face me, resuming her angry glare. "I told you: this is not your home. Leave or I will force you to leave."
"I know this isn’t my home. My Aunt Morgan moved in a few months ago. Why don’t you want anyone else living here?"
"Stop asking me questions!" Bethany shrieked. Her hands flew into the air and the dramatics began. She was frustrated with me, and even though she tried to compose herself, she was unable to hide her irritation with me. She tucked strands of her hair behind her ear and said in a calmer tone, "I told you to leave. I have warned you." The last part came out in a whisper as she continued her internal struggle to remain calm, and for a moment, she seemed almost like a statue, so still and lifeless.
I rolled my eyes at her stubbornness and continued on. "You’ve done more than warn me–you tried to kill me!" I yelled back, letting my anger flow. "What you did to me on the Ferris wheel at the carnival, and then trying to drown me in the bathtub was not cool. I can help you if you’d just calm down and tell me what you need.
"Look, I’m not sure if you know this or not, but you’re dead, and you can’t live here anymore, so why don’t you just tell me what I need to do to help you to move on to Heaven, or the afterlife, and we can end this now."
"You stupid girl," she screamed at me with rage. The wind blew around us as her anger grew. "You cannot help me. Leave. When William returns, he needs to find me here or he will never know what happened." Her shrill voice stung my ears as she cried out the words. I tried to stand tall, but the pain I felt almost made me fall over.
"What does he need to know?" I asked, trying to uncover the information I needed to help her. As much of a pain this girl was, I knew that if I didn’t help her, she was bound to destroy our lives.
Just as Bethany opened her mouth to speak, the attic door opened, my aunt Morgan appeared, and Bethany disappeared, leaving me chilled and filled with more questions than answers.
"Sadie, are you in here?" Aunt Morgan called as she climbed the stairs into the small space.
I huffed out a breath of rage. I was so close to finding out what Bethany needed. What if it was another week before I saw her again? What if she tried to kill me again? Man, this job was going to be more difficult than I had imagined. I made a wish t go back to the days where the dead girls only appeared in my dreams.
"Aunt Morgan? I’m here. Sorry, I was just looking around." I closed the trunk.
"What on earth are you doing up here?" she asked.
"Just exploring," I disclosed.
"This house is pretty neat," she noted, looking around at all the stuff in the attic. "When we moved in, the Realtor told us the previous families had left quickly, and most of their things were just thrown up here, out of the way. I guess I need to clean out all of this clutter. Did you find anything interesting?
I nodded toward the trunk and pushed a few boxes back toward the wall. "I found some old pictures of a family that used to live here and a letter. I hope its okay that I’m up here."
Aunt Morgan walked over to where I was standing, reached out, and carefully took the letter from me.
"Oh, wow, this is incredible," she exclaimed. "I’ve never looked up here before. I can’t believe this treasure was hiding in among all this junk." She took a moment to examine the contents of the letter.
"I guess I’m interested in historical artifacts," I noted, trying not to sound like such a nerd.
Aunt Morgan laughed and handed me the letter. I folded it back to its original form and tucked it safely inside the envelope.
"I remember your mom telling me about your little adventure this year," she noted, watching my face. "She said you found a journal from a witch who’d been persecuted during the Salem Witch Trials."
I nodded my head and smiled. I’d enjoyed helping clear Elizabeth’s name. It had been my most adventurous and time-consuming job yet, but I’d loved every minute of it.
"Yeah, that was really cool. The journal was so old, but reading it was like living someone else’s life. The paper I wrote was published, and I’m trying to get into our school’s journalism program." I disclosed the information with confidence, even though I feared my writing and r
esearch wouldn’t be good enough to gain me a spot on the school newspaper team.
"Well, I think that is wonderful," Aunt Morgan said, smiling and nodding. "You have an amazing talent. What were you looking for up here, in the attic?" she asked, looking around the disorganized space.
"I’m just looking for inspiration," I said, unsure
of what else to tell her. "I think I might try to find out some information about this guy named William. He’s in some of the pictures and letters I found."
Aunt Morgan smiled and looked out the same small window that Bethany had only moments ago. "You might want to ask the neighbors questions, too, if you’re looking into the history of this house and the town. Their family has lived on that property since the 1700s," she stated, pointing across the expansive yard toward a large farm house in the distance. "I’m sure they could provide you with more information than I could."
I was excited at the prospect, and promised myself that, if given the chance, I would go over to ask some questions. I was sure they’d have heard stories or had artifacts in their house that would help me figure out exactly who William might be.
"Thanks, that information is helpful. I’ll have to introduce myself soon. All I know is that William was in the Civil War and had ties to Camp Nelson."
"Yes, Camp Nelson is a beautiful place to explore. You should take a trip over there one day this week. They have guides who might be able to give you the information you’re looking for," she said.
"But be careful," she continued, "I hear it’s haunted."
I laughed off her statement, but I was intrigued. "What do you mean, haunted?" I asked.
Aunt Morgan waved off the idea. "Oh, nothing. It’s just a rumor someone started a long time ago. People say the spirits of the dead soldiers roam the cemetery and the campgrounds, searching for their families and the loved ones they left behind. Some people have even claimed to have seen these ghosts walking around, but it’s all fantasy, if you ask me, a joke someone came up with to scare kids away from vandalizing the place."
Wicked Lies Page 9