by Shelly Brown
I was scared to defy Lisette, but I had stood up to her once before and I was more afraid to defy my own conscience.
I planted the shovel square into the ground. I lifted my foot to pound on the blade but as it came down the handle broke in half causing me to lose my balance and fall.
As I hit the ground, I heard a pop sound and one by one the lights around the excavation site burst like bright white firecrackers then went black. When the last one died, plunging everyone into darkness, the screaming started.
And judging by the loud cussing, whimpering, and running feet around me, the others heard it as well.
Chapter 34
The Orphan Brat
Justin
Everyone split that night without getting one spoonful of dirt out of the ground. To say I was disappointed was an understatement.
School on Friday was tough too. We had a test in my first class which I had totally forgotten about and didn’t study for. These stupid kids in English class started making fun of my backpack. It was the same one I had carried since the beginning of the school year but that day it struck them as funny. I tried to ignore them. Although she didn’t say anything, I knew Tiffany could hear all of it.
Lunch by myself was . . . well, lunch by myself. Except Tiffany came over and talked with me for a while so it wasn’t a complete loss.
By the time school was out, I cornered Tiffany and asked her if she would go to the police station with me. We told Jessica we were headed to the library, but I’m pretty sure she noticed that we didn’t leave in the right direction.
Officer Murphy welcomed us in with a smile but had bad news. He personally thought that they needed to try again but he said that the others were so spooked that they couldn’t get men to work the job. Since there wasn’t enough proof to show that this was a matter for the police force, or that they would even find anything there, his superior officer approved ditching the plan.
“He actually said that you guys were lying to get attention. That’s the part that makes me really mad,” he said twisting a wadded up post-it note in his hand. “The chickens are just making up excuses.” He looked straight at me. “You didn’t hear me say that.”
I nodded.
We pleaded with him to help us.
“I’m not sure what else I can do, but if Jerome and Frank will let you dig, maybe you can bring us better proof.”
We left, thinking about the impossibility of Lisette just letting us dig. I was so frustrated that I kicked the bench outside of the police station really hard which only made my foot hurt.
Tiffany watched me as we walked home. It was strange how she was just studying me so I finally asked, “What?”
“Can I ask you a hard question?”
“Sure.” I held out the r sound, a little nervous about what was coming. After all, my bad day wasn’t over yet.
She stopped staring at me and focused on the road in front of us. “Do you remember in second grade when you fell off of the playground bars and had to get stitches on your head?”
“Umm, yeah. I remember.” I chuckled. “That question was easier than I expected.”
“No, what I was trying to say is, I remember you just sitting there on the tanbark holding your head that was bleeding buckets down your face” She ran her fingers through her bangs. “But you didn’t cry. I went to your parent’s funeral and you looked really sad, but I didn’t see any tears. I’ve known you my whole life and coming back from the Hacienda was the first time I ever saw you cry.”
Oh my gosh, she wanted to talking about me crying?
The day actually did get worse. I wasn’t sure it could, but it did.
Tiffany continued, “You fell pretty hard but it wasn’t hard enough for all of those tears. So what happened?”
My thoughts and emotions swirled.
“I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.” She kicked a Milk Duds box that someone had left on the sidewalk then bent over and picked it up. “I’ve just been worried about you. Does it have to do with those ghosts that follow you?” She tossed it in the garbage then looked at me.
It was a pretty straightforward question so I nodded. Maybe that would satiate her curiosity and we could go back to not talking.
But that wasn’t what Tiffany had in mind. “I mean, this is super personal, and I might be way wrong, but . . . are they your parents?” She whipped her head to look at me. Trying to read my expression, I’d guess.
I tried to keep my face neutral, but inside I was a mess. I wasn’t ready to talk about the other day. Not only was it super embarrassing, but I was afraid if I started talking about it might start crying again. But she asked me something that nobody had ever asked me before. She guessed my secret and there was a part of me that thought that was kind of cool. It was a relief that someone else might be able to understand that part of me.
Before I could chicken out I nodded.
“Wow. How long have they been following you?”
I could answer that one without breaking down. “They died on a Wednesday and showed up the first Wednesday after the accident and every Wednesday since.”
She was quiet, and for a minute I thought we were done, but then she whispered, “Do you know why?”
The answers swam in my head but they all sounded so ugly—so incriminating—getting them to come out of my mouth felt impossible. Finally I found one word that I felt summed it up. “Karma.”
“Like where the good things you do for others comes back to you in good things happening to you?” Tiffany’s eyes widened. “So like you were blessed to have your parents around even after they died?”
“No.” I snorted a little at the thought. “More like the spiders.”
I could see the wheels churning behind her eyes. She blinked twice then dropped her eyebrows. “But you didn’t kill your parents.”
I chose to ignore the statement. That was a good enough place to end the conversation. She was just going to have to figure the rest out on her own.
She gasped. “Oh my gosh, Justin Henderson, you think you killed your parents!”
Think? I think? That’s not something someone thinks. “I did. It was my fault.”
Tiffany’s tone was incredulous. “No, it wasn’t.”
Was I going to have to convince her? I felt like everyone already knew that I killed my parents. I guess I hid it better than I thought. “Yes, I did. If I hadn’t been such a brat that day, they wouldn’t have died.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “If being a brat killed people’s parents, I’d have been an orphan way before you.”
She had a point.
“You don’t understand.” For the first time ever I felt ready to talk. It was a strange feeling but I went with it. “I was throwing a fit at home that the girls got to do all these things while I was always left at home, so mom got the idea to take me to the movies. Just me, no sisters. Dad let me pick and I picked a movie at the Campanil Theater. I brought my stupid bouncy ball with us and because I was a stupid kid—” I choked up. Dang it, maybe I wasn’t ready. But I hadn’t finished. “. . . I threw the ball at the windshield . . . If I hadn’t been such a brat that day . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Tiffany whispered.
“It was distracting. When Dad went to pick the ball up he ran the stop sign. I don’t even think he saw it coming. I don’t think anyone saw it coming.”
She didn’t respond.
I don’t know what I was expecting. A huge too-bad-you-killed-your-parents hug? Profound words of wisdom? It was Tiffany Hart I was telling this to.
We walked in silence the rest of the way home and right before we split ways she said a quiet, “Sorry,” without even looking at me.
Had I made a big mistake telling her?
***
Hannah’s Sunday dinners were never as good as mom’s used to be. Canned c
hili really couldn’t compare with pot roast and all the fixings. But after youth ministry, ushering, and worship service, I downed my bowl, threw back some chips, and went in for seconds.
“Use a napkin,” Hannah said throwing one at me.
I searched the table under my bowl for where I must have spilled.
Kori laughed. “For your face, stupid.”
If it was just for my face, I figured the napkin would be of better use when I was done, so I went back to eating.
The whole day had been tense because Hannah didn’t approve of Kori wearing shorts to church and Kori was sick of Hannah trying to be the boss. They hadn’t spoken more than curt responses to each other all afternoon.
My mind wasn’t at peace either. All I could think about was that I had opened up my darkest secret to somebody. Why on earth did I ever do that? What business was it of hers anyways? And now she thinks I’m evil and probably won’t want to have anything to do with me. Could I blame her? If she had told me that she murdered some people, how would I feel?
Nope, this was part of my karma. I would just have to deal with this.
All by myself.
For the rest of my life.
That was depressing.
Murder. I guess I wasn’t that much different from Lisette. Doomed to roam boring Antioch even after I die. Bitter, alone, angry, dark.
The table was silent except for spoons hitting bowls and an occasional shifting in our chairs. That’s why when my phone rang I nearly leapt to my feet.
“Reverend Powell?” Hannah asked, popping a Frito chip in her mouth.
I didn’t recognize the phone number but it was local. Shaking my head I stood from the table and went into the kitchen to take the call.
The kitchen was a mess. It was my chore and with everything going on with Tiffany and such, I had pretty much neglected everything but the basic dishwashing.
“Hello?”
“Oh yes, Justin. This is Nellie Wilkey from the Historical Society.”
“Oh hey, Nellie.”
“Do you remember how we were talking about wishing we could find Lisette’s journal or something?”
“You found her journal!” Surely she would have written something about the children that we could use.
“No, I found her sister’s journal.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“But she’s from Spain so it’s written in Spanish.”
“Oh.” It would be useless to me, being a single-language kind of guy. Besides if she was in Spain then she wouldn’t really know anything about what happened at her sister’s orphanage.
I think she could hear the resignation in my voice because in a cheery warble she added, “And I speak fluent Spanish. I’ve been skimming it all day. Very interesting stuff. Talks about her trip from Barcelona to San Francisco, and moving to Antioch, and then working in an orchard. But there is some stuff here where she talks about her sister that I’m pretty sure you’d be interested in. Let me find it . . .” I could hear her shuffling papers on the other end of the phone.
Chapter 35
Two Bums in a Swing
Tiffany
I held the picture in my hand and studied the girl. Dark brown curls, round cheeks, squinty eyes. It was Ruby.
But it wasn’t.
It couldn’t be.
My father was doing family history and had the table spread with family trees and old photographs and this one caught my eye.
Why was there a picture of Ruby in my family tree? I might not be the savviest kid in the Milky Way, but I knew how families worked, and if Ruby died when I think she died, she couldn’t have had kids (who had kids, who had me).
I asked my dad who it was and he said it was Great Grandma Hart. We didn’t see her before she died because she lived all the way in Minnesota.
Minnesota was right but Hart was wrong.
“Are you sure it’s not Pettersen?” I asked.
“Her maiden name was Pettersen,” my dad said still arranging a stack of photos from his hand to the right spots on the table.
“Ruby?” I asked. My heart pounding for the answer to be yes.
“Naomi,” my dad responded then set down the stack of photos and grabbed a family chart. “She had a cousin named Ruby though. Here,” he pointed to some names on the sheet, “her uncle Harold had a Ruby.”
I looked at the names. Harold and Ruth. Ruby, Patrick, and Henry.
They were on my family tree.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of the names scribbled in blue ballpoint ink.
Blood.
Family.
A short scream broke my trance-like state. I turned my head to see Patrick getting up off of the ground by the couch and rubbing his arm. He must have jumped from too high. It took me a minute to find Ruby among all of the children. She was sitting on the floor holding the sleeping Henry. She stroked his silky hair again and again. She must have sensed my gaze because she looked up at me and smiled.
I wasn’t sure if she had heard what my father and I were talking about or if the sight of me just made her smile. But it made me smile as well.
Family.
Distant but mine.
I needed a little bit of time to think about what I just heard, so I walked myself down to the park and took my time on the swings. Besides it was good for all of the kids to have somewhere to play that wasn’t my bedroom.
I watched this little ghost girl of three or so, with the most adorable ringlets, try to play with Henry on the grass. He would smile then cry and she would do the same. There was a lot of random screaming going on between kids getting hurt on the equipment and others squealing in delight.
Ruby was playing tag with a bunch of older kids and the joy on her face was so sweet it made my chest feel like it was full of tiny exploding stars. Could they really be my family?
I had to get them to their parents.
But how?
How was I ever going to get them out of the ground? The super-scary, big-bad, devil lady was always watching over her victims. Man, I hated her. Part of me thought, She doesn’t frighten me, but the bigger part of me thought, Heck yeah she does! The woman killed over thirty children. That’s not the kind of person who you ask a favor from.
Excuse me. Could I just dig here for a bit? I seem to have lost a few ancestors.
And it’s not like I could have just dug out the three Pettersens. I would need to save all of the children. That would have been a lot of digging. If only I had a magic shovel that could withstand the powers of the dead.
I wished Justin was there to brainstorm with me. Since Friday, after we parted ways, he hadn’t said a word to me. I sat on the front lawn for a couple of hours yesterday so that I could get the kids out of the house, and he didn’t come out to say hi or even come to his window. Not that I was watching his window . . .
I did see Jessica coming up the road, but when she saw me she stopped and turned around. There was something weird between us and I couldn’t put my finger on. Between Jessica, Justin, and the election, I was beginning to wonder if I had any friends. Well friends who were alive.
Was that what Justin went through in fourth grade when he started seeing ghosts? He had a lot of friends before he started telling people about ghosts and since then he’s been considered a freak. Had I joined the ranks of freak? Is that why Jessica was avoiding me? Is that why I lost the election?
The messy haired ghost boy wasn’t looking and ran right into my swing. He was somewhat solid at that moment and went sprawling onto the grass, wailing. I jumped off and ran to him. I couldn’t understand how pain worked in their bodies, but there must have been something to it. Something that made the babies cry and the children sleep. His screams were screechy but fortunately he recovered quickly. He put his hat back on, brushed off his short pants, and was playing again in
no time.
As much as I was loving each and every personality that came with having thirty different kids, I was absolutely sick of them as well. Earlier that day at church I could only get seven of them to sit at all. The rest of them climbed, ran, crawled, and basically created a crazy fest, everywhere. I didn’t hear one word of the sermon.
Then again maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they were only around on Sundays.
I went back to my swing, and to my surprise there was already somebody sitting in it.
“I wanted to tell you something I learned,” were the first words out of Justin’s mouth. “And then I’ll go.”
I read his lips since the children were still being so loud. I heard him all right on the beginning bit but he dropped his head when he said the last part and I wasn’t sure I understood him. “You’ll go? Where?”
He didn’t look up and started to twist his swing a little. I was pretty sure he was talking but the kids game must have gotten very exciting. The screaming was nonstop.
I grabbed Justin’s swing chain with both my hands and stopped his spinning. He looked up at me with big eyes since my face was rather close to his in order to hold onto the chain. “I can’t hear you,” I tried to explain. I then motioned for him to scoot over.
He raised one eyebrow and glanced down at the swing seat, which he filled snuggly all by himself.
Yes, I knew how hard that would be for both of us to fit on a swing but it would be easier to talk that way. We used to do it all the time when we were little. I became insistent in my hand motions and he tried to make room for me.
He scooted and scooted until he was partially sitting on the chain. In the end he was able to clear six inches for me and I slid myself into that space. For as squishy as it was, it was oddly comfortable.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’ll leave you alone.” He faced me but pulled his head back as not to be talking too close. “I’ll tell you what I know then won’t bother you any more.” He looked at his shoes as he twisted his toe in the sand.