by E. E. Holmes
I opened my mouth and then shut it. There was something about the way the light didn’t quite hit her, something about the way she seemed untouched by the shadows.
Holy shit! Two ghosts in five minutes!
I tried to keep my voice soothing. “Okay, Carley. Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you anywhere. I’m just a patient here, like you. Can you tell me where Hannah is?”
“No! I won’t tell you anything! You go away! They can’t make me tell you anything!” she shrieked.
Without warning the light bulb in the lamp beside her flared to life and exploded in the same instant. With a miserable wail, Carley turned and crawled away straight through the wall.
I heaved a sigh of relief that she was gone and took stock of the rest of my surroundings. The room was small and devoid of personality, like a hotel room. Two twin beds and two small desks with matching chairs suggested that the room was meant for two occupants, though only one side appeared to be lived in. I chose the bed further from the window, the one stripped of bedding, and perched on the end. I’d made it here, and now there was nothing to do but wait.
I looked for a clue that might tell me something, anything, about my sister. Her side of the room reminded me of Tia in its cleanliness. The bed was made with obsessive precision, the pillows lined up perfectly with the turned-down comforter. A number of books were arranged on a shelf behind the headboard. A quick glance confirmed that they were alphabetized, their bindings perfectly aligned.
The desk was covered in piles of matching books, the kind of black and white composition books I used to get in grade school. I walked over and picked one up. On the front cover, in tiny, precise handwriting was the name “Hannah Ballard.” As I flipped through the pages, it appeared to be some kind of log.
April 18th
7:30 AM—Girl with blonde hair and freckles, art room. Gunshot wound to side of head. Self-inflicted? Standing by window with paintbrush. Tried to speak to me twice. Eye contact avoided—Jameson present. First sighting, 12 minutes.
8:47 AM—Assigned meds—two Valium and two Seroquel. Tongued and flushed.
12:30 PM—Old woman on back lawn during rec. time. Same one as April 6th, same location (See log entry for April 6th at 11AM) Not screaming this time. Sighting 45 minutes.
Tears welling in my eyes, I picked up another and flipped through it. Then another. And another. They were all the same. Encounter after encounter, ghost after ghost, for years on end. This had been my sister’s existence.
“What are you doing in my room?”
I whirled around, dropping the book I’d been holding. There was a girl standing in the doorway, her hand resting on the handle. There was nothing ghostly about her. I would have known her anywhere.
Hannah was absolutely tiny. Her face was long and pale as porcelain, and the round, dark eyes that blinked confusedly out from its planes seemed much too large, and old, to belong there. The resemblance to our mother in her fine, pointed features was so pronounced as to be startling. Her hair was chestnut brown and seemed unruly like mine; it sprung defiantly from the elastic that struggled to hold it in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her entire frame seemed brittle and, despite how small it was, it seemed to take considerable effort to hold it up.
It would be impossible to understand the emotions that ran through me at the sight of my sister. It began with a warmth that spread through me that concentrated behind my eyes, where it burned with repressed tears. The warmth drained almost as quickly as it had appeared as an icy fear chased it away. She looked so fragile, so breakable. The fear morphed into a fierce feeling, half-love, half-anger, and I knew at that very moment that I would destroy anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.
While this new world expanded and collapsed inside me, Hannah was staring at me, as though trying to decide something. Her expression seemed impassive, but her hands shook.
“You shouldn’t be here. I took my meds. I haven’t missed any in over a month. Why are you here?” Her voice fluttered when she spoke.
“I … came to see you,” I replied, finally finding my voice.
“But you shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be able to see you.” She squeezed her eyes shut and screwed up her face in concentration. After a few seconds she opened them again and refocused on me. Her expression morphed from surprise to frustration, and then fear.
“No! You aren’t supposed to be here! They promised!” Hannah started to back away, her hand reaching for an intercom unit on the wall.
“Wait! Stop! Please don’t press that button! Just hear me out! Hannah, I’m real, okay? I’m a real person.”
Her hand hovered over the intercom switch but she did not press it. “What do you mean, real?”
“I mean I’m not a ghost. I’m not like the others you’ve been seeing.”
Hannah shook her head ferociously from side to side, her voice rising shrilly. “Not ghosts. Hallucinations. Dr. Ferber promised that—”
“—Fine! I’m not a hallucination either.”
“Are you my new roommate? They didn’t tell me I was getting a roommate.” Her voice hitched strangely.
“No, I’m not your roommate. I’m not a patient here.”
“What are you doing in my room? Why are you touching my things?”
God, I was not ready for this! I didn’t know which of her questions I should answer, if I would set her off into a panic, or if she would even believe me. I decided to answer as little as I could get away with. “My name is Jessica. I came to get you out of here. Don’t you want to get out of here?”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Hannah said, “but I have nowhere else to go.”
“What if there was somewhere else you could go? What if there was a home waiting for you, a real one, not another place like this? Would you want to leave then?”
Hannah sank slowly onto the end of the bed and began obsessively straightening the bedspread that had wrinkled around her. I noticed a number of thin scars that covered her wrists. “Yes, I would want to leave. But they would never let me. And even if they did, why would I go with you? Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m someone who understands what’s been happening to you. Those people you’ve seen since you were little? I can see them too.”
Hannah’s eyebrows drew together and made her look surprisingly fierce. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.” I took a step toward her, and sat across from her on the other bed. I moved cautiously, behaving as I would around a skittish animal. It was imperative that she believe me, that I say what I needed to get her to trust me. “I know everyone told you that they were hallucinations, but they aren’t. They’re ghosts, people whose spirits are trapped here. I can see them too, I promise you.”
“No, ghosts aren’t real. In therapy, they told me that my illness—”
“—You aren’t sick, Hannah. They just don’t understand what you can do. Listen, I can prove it. I just met your old roommate, Carley.
“You couldn’t have. She’s—”
“—Dead. I know. But I just saw her.”
“I don’t believe you,” Hannah repeated.
“What about Milo?”
Hannah’s frantic hands froze. She looked like cornered prey. “I … I don’t know anyone named Milo.”
“Yes, you do! He told me you were friends.”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “What does he look like?”
“Really thin with shaggy dark hair and blue eyes, likes to play solitaire in that common room downstairs.”
“What did he say to you? Did he tell you anything?”
“He seemed pretty interested in sharing his personal information, actually. He told me he was committed here for depression, anxiety, something about sexual identity, attempted suicide, and an addiction to prescription pain killers. He’s the one who told me how to find your room.”
“Sexual identity disorder,” Hannah whispered, her eyes widening.
I smiled a little. “Yeah, that’
s it. He also told me I needed a new hairstyle and that he could tell I was crazy just by talking to me.”
The corner of Hannah’s mouth twitched up ever so slightly. “That sounds like something he would say.” Her eyes bore into me. “You really did see him, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I’m telling you the truth, I promise.”
“That doesn’t explain how you knew I was here or why I should go anywhere with you,” she said, returning to her compulsive straightening of the bed.
I took a deep breath. I could only hope she was stronger than she looked. “About ten months ago I started having these visitations—the same kind that you’ve been having for your entire life. Ever since it started, I’ve been in search of the reason why. And just last night, I got the answers I was looking for.”
Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “Why? Why can we see them when no one else can?”
“It has to do with our heritage, our bloodline. You and I were both born into a line of women who have this … ability. We’re related, Hannah.”
“Related?” she whispered.
“Yes. We’re sisters.”
Hannah stared at me as though I had spoken a word in a foreign language.
“But I don’t have anyone. I’ve never had anyone,” she said blankly. “I know. I didn’t know about you, Hannah. I didn’t know you were here, or I would have been here sooner. I’m so sorry.” “I don’t have anyone,” she repeated. “Only the dead people. I only have the dead people.” “But you do now, Hannah, that’s what I’m trying to tell—” My phone buzzed to life again.
“Jess, have you found her yet?” Karen sounded out of breath.
“Yes, I’m with her now.”
“The doctor started calling for your medical records, so I had to get out of there. They’ll know by now that we made it all up. I pulled the car onto Preston Street, around the back side of the property. I’ll wait here for you.”
“Okay, we’ll find a way out.”
“Hurry, Jess, and whatever you do, don’t get caught!”
I hung up. “Hannah, I’m really sorry, but we don’t have a lot of time for explanations right now. I promise you that I will answer every question that you have, every one that I have an answer to. But right now we need to get out of here. Will you come with me?”
Hannah seemed frozen. She stared at me, her face disturbingly blank. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly and tried to rise shakily from the bed. Instinctively, I reached out a hand to help her up. She hesitated and then took it.
We both gasped.
A powerful current, almost like electricity, pulsed between us. Yet rather than wanting to break apart, the current only bound us more closely together. A gust of wind blew our hair around our faces, and the quiet of the room was suddenly alive with voices, bleeding through the walls, echoing from the floors, emanating from everywhere.
I wrenched my hand away from Hannah’s and broke the connection. Hannah stumbled back from me and fell against her desk. We stared into each other’s eyes, breathless.
“What was that?” she cried.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should let it happen again,” I said. “Are you okay?”
She stood up gingerly. “I think so.”
At that moment the intercom system crackled to life. “All residents please proceed to their rooms for afternoon rounds. All staff please take note, this is a Code Pink round. Please call the front desk for instructions.”
“What’s a Code Pink round?” I asked.
“It means someone is missing from wherever they’re supposed to be. The nurses will be searching the rooms.”
I groaned. “Damn it. I’m the Code Pink. They must have gone back to the detox room and found me missing.”
“You were in detox?”
“Yeah. Well, I pretended to need detox so that I could sneak in and find you.”
Hannah almost smiled. “You did that for me?”
“Of course I did.” I tried to untangle my thoughts and focus. “We need to work together if we’re going to pull this off. I’m going to need your help. What’s our best chance to hide me until this Code Pink is over?”
Hannah thought for a moment. “I don’t know. The kitchen maybe? If we can get down there, it opens out to the back parking lot. They leave the door open because it gets so hot with the ovens; I’ve seen it through the tray pass-through.”
“Sounds like it’s worth a try.”
“We’ll need to be quick, before they …”
A loud metallic click resounded through the room.
“… lock us in,” she finished.
I flew to the door and pulled on the handle but I knew it was no good before I’d even tried. Hannah sank into her chair.
“It’s too late. We can’t get out that way.”
“Come on, Hannah, think! Isn’t there anywhere I can hide in here?” I cried. I chanced a look out of the little window in the door. A team of nurses was already at the end of the hall, opening the first door by swiping an I.D. through a sensor.
“No. I don’t know how to keep them from finding you, unless …” her voice trailed away and her stare became glassy as it landed on the piles of notebooks.
“Hannah?”
She didn’t move.
“HANNAH!”
She started out of her reverie and rose unsteadily. “Get in the closet,” she said.
“In the …? Hannah, no offense, but that’s the first place they’re going to look!”
“Just do it! Trust me.”
What other choice did I have? I ran across the room, wrenched the closet door open and backed myself into the corner until I was pressed against the back wall.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I’m going to call for help.”
“Call who? Who could possibly …”
Voices just outside the door interrupted my question. I heard the beeping of the sensor and the snap of the lock as it released and the door swung open. My heart thudded against my ribcage.
I recognized the first voice to speak.
“Hello, Hannah,” Nurse Jameson said. “Did you hear the announcement? This round will include a room check.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Nurse Roberts has your meds. Please show your hands and swallow these.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said no. I’m not going to take those pills.”
“It’s not an option, Hannah, you know that,” a kinder male voice said. “Either you take them voluntarily or we have to restrain you and administer them ourselves. It’s your choice, but it would be a lot easier on all of us if you just took them.”
“No,” Hannah repeated softly.
“Hannah, we don’t have time for this,” Jameson sighed. “You’ve been voluntary for over a month now. What’s the problem all of a sudden?”
Hannah stayed silent. I closed my eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, not to panic. What was she doing? How could causing a huge scene by refusing her medication possibly help our situation?
“Fine, have it your way,” Jameson said. “We’re coming in. Is there anyone or anything in your room that we should know about?”
“Not yet,” Hannah said. Her voice was barely louder than a murmur. As she spoke, a cold draft swept the room and the temperature started to drop.
“What did you say?” Jameson asked.
“I said there’s no one here that you should know about,” Hannah repeated, a little more loudly. “But there will be.”
My teeth started to chatter. I clenched them together to silence the sound. What the hell was going on? I chanced a peek though the slats of the door.
Jameson towered in the doorway, flanked by a short but burly male nurse. Hannah stood in the middle of the room, her head bowed as though in prayer. Her mouth was moving silently and her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides. As I watched, her hair started blowing gently around her face.
�
��Hannah? Are you alright?” Jameson asked warily.
“What is she doing?” Roberts whispered.
Hannah’s muttering grew faster and faster. It was impossible to tell what she was saying, but the effect was undeniable. The room was now so cold that I could see my breath. A familiar feeling began to creep through my veins, a sensation I’d felt only a few times before, but which I would never forget.
“Why is it so cold in here?” Jameson asked. She edged a step into the room and examined the thermostat on the wall.
But I knew why it was so cold. I’d felt it, and now I could see it. Ghosts. Everywhere. Materializing right and left, floating through walls, rising up from the floors. They were men and women, adults and children. A few looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of a history book, in antiquated clothing; others looked like they’d just walked in off the street. I recognized Milo and Carley among them. There were probably fifty of them in all, fading in and out of focus, flickering like eight millimeter images, hovering, floating and crouching everywhere. Whatever Hannah was doing was calling them to her, and they clustered around her like moths around a candle flame, forming a wall of the dead between her and the nurses.
Although Jameson could see none of this, she knew something was very wrong. She was backing away from Hannah like she was about to explode.
“Call Doctor Ferber,” she told Roberts.
He unclipped a radio from his belt and raised it to his mouth, but before he could say anything, a small boy with a gaping head wound shot forward, thrusting his hands out for the radio. It flew out of Roberts’ hand, arced through the air and smashed into the wall.
“What the hell was that?” he shouted.
“Hannah, I need you to calm down. Just take a deep breath and calm down,” Jameson said, raising both of her hands in a gesture of surrender.
Hannah said nothing aloud, but inclined her head toward Milo, who disappeared and reappeared in the same instant beside Jameson. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent her clipboard, papers, and I.D. soaring out of her hands and skidding across the floor.
Shock and terror had incapacitated me, and the worst part was that I didn’t know who I was more terrified of, this army of the dead or my own sister.