Haunted

by Susan Oloier

  “Bellini. Compliments of Hailey.”

  Nate gives me the once-over with a sneer. The only reason he holds his tongue is because of Stella. Otherwise, I’m certain he would unleash a tirade of foul language on me. I don’t care about Nate or the reason why he’s angry with me until Eli strolls over to the other side of Nate—as far from me as he can get without avoiding his friend. Eli takes a second look at me, then averts his gaze. Apparently, he’s already over our almost-romance.

  I turn back toward the bar; follow the line of glasses down to the guy at the end. He lifts his mouth into a grin, picks up his drink, and walks over. I don’t want him to come. I’d rather be left alone with my buzz. But here he is. He seems early twenties. His skin color reminds me of toasted marshmallow, and his eyes are brown with thick, dark lashes.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” I answer back.

  Nate’s glare practically drills a hole through my head, but I ignore him. “We’re on in a few,” he tells Stella with an edge to his voice. Then he pecks her on the lips and takes off.

  Eli hesitates before following him. There’s hurt in Eli’s eyes as he takes in the scene between the guy and me. But this stranger means nothing to me. He’s only a prop.

  “I’m Robert,” the bar guys says.

  “Hailey,” I answer, but my attention remains with Eli as he wanders away. The guy doesn’t seem to notice. At all. I swallow the rest of my drink and cross my fingers that tonight will become a foggy memory, and Eli and all he has become in my mind will dissipate along with it.

  Eli

  What can I do? If there was any question before, it’s been answered tonight. After the library, I had considered approaching her and attempting to right everything between us. I’m not sure how it went wrong, but it’s more than obvious tonight: It’s time to move on. Who cares that she looks unbelievably hot? She has absolutely no interest in me.

  As I fiddle onstage with the strings on my guitar, listening to something Steely-Dan-ish in the background, I glimpse her flirting with last-year senior, Robert something-or-other. I’d be lying to say I’m not jealous because I am. I can feel the envy riding a fast track right through me. It takes unbelievable amounts of energy to contain my anger and not break something.

  “I’m going to break something,” I seethe to Nate while my eyes remain fixed on Hailey and her new guy.

  “Man, if you want to trash something,” Nate picks up a wayward glass from the bar and hands it to me, “break this. Outside. Far away from me.”

  “Funny.” But my face is void of a smile, and I’m not laughing.

  Nate moves immediately beside me. His face nearly brushes my own. “Say it,” he urges. “You know you want to.” His eyes follow the same path as my own. “Bitch.” He looks at me, but I refuse to repeat the words. “Kitty-bitch. Come on. You’ll feel better.”

  I actually crack a smile.

  “You’re saying it on the inside, aren’t you?” He grins back. “Fuck her! Look at all the hot women here tonight. Older, hot women.” Nate relishes the thought a little too much.

  I clear my throat. “And Stella,” I nudge.

  Nate is deflated. “Right. Stella.”

  But Nate’s right. Forget Hailey. So she liked me for—what?—a minute and now doesn’t anymore. It’s not the end of the world. I have other things going for me. I don’t need to become obsessed with a girl. I have my music, the main motivator in my life. It’s what I need to focus on after Madeline anyway. It’s the reason I wanted to quit the library, which I fully plan to do right after school on Monday. Again. No reason to torture myself any longer. It’s time to revert back to the old plans—music. Also time to implement everything I learned in anger management because the urge to get mad swoops down on me like a hawk. I do the whole self-talk thing: I will not call her kitty-bitch. Think of a replacement word like, like…But I find myself not wanting to call her anything at all. I seriously want to throw or break something, though. I think back to the techniques I learned. I tap Nate on the shoulder.

  “I need a timeout,” I say as I pull the guitar off of me.

  “Seriously? Now?”

  There’s gravity to my voice. “Yeah. Now.”

  He knows it’s serious. He’s been down this path with me before.

  “Here,” he grabs the glass again, “take this with you. I’ll delay until you get back.”

  I snatch the bar glass. “Thanks.” Then I head offstage and storm for the back door.

  One of the keys to anger management is to experience the anger in an appropriate way—to not take it out on others. I sure as shooting stars would love to take all my frustration out on the guy Hailey stands with at the bar. Pummeling him would alleviate all my negative feelings right now.

  I punch through the back doors out into the icy night air. The jet-black sky is alive with a universe of stars. A crescent moon looks like it hangs from a noose. I grip the glass tightly in my hand, pacing back and forth in front of the garbage-strewn dumpsters of the back alley. I kick a Styrofoam cup out of my way all the while picturing Hailey and Madeline in my mind. Back and forth. Back and forth. My mind is abuzz with confusion. I mean, it has to be me. Right? I’m doing something wrong, sending out some sort of bad vibe to attract these kind of toxic girls to me. But why? I think of Nate, who treats the female persuasion—well, let’s be honest—kind of crappy. And here he is at the club with a devoted girl on his arm who he doesn’t even seem to respect or care about. Is that the way to act? Like a jerk? Is that what girls like Hailey want? Because I don’t think I have it in me to be a creep.

  My muscles tense, and my pacing increases. I hurl the glass into the distance, and it smashes, sending shards flying in all directions. I’m only supposed to need a countdown of ten seconds to cool my temper, and I’ve been outside way longer. I need to get back.

  I open the door to a wave of warm air and tuning instruments. The club goers are restless. Nate has never been one to quell an impatient crowd. I climb back onstage and grab my guitar. The guys pay me some nasty glances, but I don’t care. Then we immediately launch into our signature song, Fall Apart. I wrote it after Madeline, but it seems equally appropriate now. I sink into the chords and become one with my guitar. Soon everything outside the stage and my playing becomes obsolete. It also helps that the floor lights have been cut, so it’s hard to see what’s going on at the bar. I don’t want to know anyway. Don’t care anymore.

  Jeremy

  I worked hard to get here. I showed up at the requisite time; the time she’d normally wash her face, pull on her pajamas, and slide into bed for some nighttime TV-watching or music-listening. But it’s only me in the center of all her things.

  I glance out the window into darkness. Where could she be? I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for her. I can’t simply drift endlessly around the town trying to decipher her whereabouts. It would take an enormous toll on me, and I’m not up to the task. So I lie down on her bed and absorb the scent of her. Being here feels like things haven’t changed at all from before the accident. I’m staring up at the same light fixture, studying the dance poster against the side wall and the black and white Keith Urban poster I always teased her about—how it made me feel jealous, gazing at him bent over his guitar when I couldn’t play an instrument to save my life.

  Hailey always reminded me I was the best male dancer she knew. She, of course, being the best overall dancer was our inside joke. I miss those times as I nuzzle into her blankets and flip onto my side to lay eyes on the items strewn on her nightstand, like a water glass, her forgotten vitamin, a paperback copy of Hamlet, and the red feather. I reach for it and pick it up. I finger it, knowing it’s probably one of the last things she touched. I imagine the feather is her hair. Wish to feel its soft touch along my hand. I wish for so many things that will never be again.

  I wonder how long I can hang on like this. With each passing day, I grow more curious about what lies on the other side. Will it be less lone
ly there? Or will it be a vast space of nothingness? I’m afraid to let go of everything I’ve come to know and love about my world here. While it’s torture to be able to see Hailey at times without interacting with her; while I know she will eventually move on, find love, slowly forget me; I don’t know if holding on to what little I can here is better than falling into darkness behind the veil. Because that’s the way it could be. Empty. Lonely. The end. So I wait. For so many things: For her to come home, for a sign from Hailey or from the great beyond. It’s all I can do. Wait.

  Hailey

  “You are so unbelievably trashed,” Stella looks at me and says.

  The band ended a few minutes ago, and I’ve had far more to drink than I ever should have. While Stella moved to the front of the stage, bopping along to the music, I remained at the bar the entire time with Robert who, by all appearances, seemed entertained by my giggling fits and my tendency to touch his arm whenever I said something.

  “I am?” I laugh again, practically falling into Robert’s lap. He catches me by the waist and holds on for what is probably a little too long. But, frankly, I don’t care. I see Stella and Robert make eyes at one another.

  “We should get you home. Seriously.” Stella takes possession of me, physically moving me by the shoulders away from Robert.

  “Home? It’s still early.” I fan my arms out at the crowd still buzzing around us. “Let’s go party!”

  Robert leans in toward me. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “No. It does not sound like a plan,” Stella goes all mother hen on me. “We’re leaving,” she says to Robert. “Thanks for keeping her company.”

  Stella directs me toward the exit. “Let’s get some coffee in you to sober you up.”

  But I instantly stop when I spot Eli near the door with his guitar strung around him. He’s not alone. A college-age blonde with a bra for a shirt holds his hand seductively. Her finger is doing loop-de-loops on his tattooed wrist, and he’s smiling over it. He must feel my stare burning into him because he glances over, and we make eye contact. She continues to chat him up, but his attention remains tied to me for a few more moments. Eli’s expression is aloof, as if he’s already moved past me. So, without giving it any thought at all, I reach over to Robert, pull his head to mine, and kiss him square on the lips. Eli’s demeanor changes immediately, and I notice a flash of anger. He directs his attention back to the blonde and leaves with her.

  “What the hell was that?” Stella seethes at me. “Let’s go,” she says while grabbing the arm of my sweater, practically stretching it to a misshapen form, and yanking me toward the door.

  “So what? The band has groupies now?” I ask her with a spiteful tone to my voice.

  “Please tell me you’re seriously not jealous?” says Stella, stopping in mid-stride to face me.

  Eli and the blonde aren’t there anymore, but I stare at the place where they stood as if they still are. “Of course not.”

  “Good. Because you sounded a little bit jealous just now. And, from the looks of things, you’re trying to make Eli envious, which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever since you dumped him. You’re aware of all that, right?”

  Her tone is lecturing, but she isn’t wrong. I’m toying with Eli’s feelings; acting like the whole thing’s a game. I say nothing. I need to get out of this place. Away from Stella and everyone else. I suddenly want to be alone. So alone no one will be able to find me. My head aches, and I feel slightly sick to my stomach. Drinking did not do what I wanted it to for long enough because I definitely feel intense depression coming on. Sobs are scratching to get to the surface.

  “He’s cute, Hailey,” Stella drones on as if I’d tried to say something to go against her logic. “What did you expect?”

  “I didn’t expect anything, okay?” My words are choked-out sobs. My unhappiness has been churning, and it bubbles over the top in frothy hiccups.

  Stella traverses the parking lot to her car where Nate leans against the passenger door. “Nate’s riding with us,” she tells me as an afterthought. I wonder why he’s not riding with the rest of the band in their van, but then I see it. The three others—including Eli—climb into the van with three girls. One is the touchy blonde with the missing shirt.

  Nate opens the door for me with a scowl, and I climb inside without saying a word and slump into the back seat. Nate lets the back of the passenger’s seat flop back violently. I detect some angst. Best to avoid it.

  All is silent while Stella starts the car and pulls out of the lot. My eyes are transfixed on the van as it takes a left turn in the opposite direction.

  “Looks like Eli’s going to get lucky tonight,” Nate says, directing his comment over his shoulder toward me. Every single word is tinged with reproach. Stella gives him a warning look. “What?” he plays innocent. “I’m just saying.”

  I stare out the window, pretending none of what Nate says affects me.

  “Because that chick was majorly hot for him,” Nate itches for a battle. It’s the only way he can have a fight with me without inciting Stella’s wrath.

  “Let’s hope he has a condom this time,” I say emotionlessly toward the window.

  “You know what…?” Nate spins on me.

  Stella grabs his arm. “Nate, don’t,” she warns.

  But it’s as if he doesn’t hear her. “You are a total bitch.” He annunciates every word.

  My eyes are on him now. My jaw tightens, though I continue to say nothing.

  “Do you try to be that way?” he asks sarcastically. “Or does it just come naturally?”

  “Nate, shut up,” Stella says through her teeth. I can see her knuckles gripping the wheel.

  “It pretty much comes naturally,” I say as calmly as I can muster. “You can drop me off here,” I tell Stella with my eyes still fastened on Nate’s hostile look.

  “The cemetery?” she says with apprehension.

  Nate turns forward and glances out the window. Indeed, we’re at the gates of the cemetery. Stella has pulled off to the roadside.

  “Is this some kind of sick joke?” Nate asks. Clearly, Eli never mentioned my history to him. “You’re more twisted than I realized.”

  “Shut up!” Stella yells at him, giving him a solid punch on the arm. She pivots back toward me. “Hailey, I don’t think this is a good idea. Please let me take you home.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Nate asks Stella.

  “Move!” I shove Nate’s seat forward, sending him lurching toward the glove compartment. He steps out of the car and offers me the ghastliest look imaginable.

  I sprint toward the gates, anxious to get to the one person who totally understands me. I hear the car door slam and footsteps thumping behind me. “Hailey! Wait up!”

  “Leave me alone,” I shout back at Stella.

  Tears flow down my face, and I wipe the sleeve of my sweater across my cheeks and running nose.

  I hear her footfalls stop, and I know she’s turned back to the car. The door eventually bangs closed and the purr of the motor sounds, eventually fading away.

  In the past, I would have been afraid of the cemetery at night. My fear of death took the shape of shadows and ghouls and hiding-out ghosts. Even the thought of stepping over the resting places of the dead made my heart nearly stop and sent my senses into overdrive. But now the worst has happened to me. I’ve rubbed elbows with death and have become his accomplice. The grim reaper chased down Jeremy and used me to kill him. I’ll never forgive myself for it. I’m responsible for a mother losing her son, a sister losing her brother. Neither of them will even speak to me anymore when, once upon a time, we were like family. I often thought we’d be official family members when the time was right. Now that’s dead and gone, too. Sent to the grave with Jeremy.

  I steal through the grounds, wending my way along the cement pathway to Jeremy’s grave. The shard of moon in the sky casts everything in shadow. The only sound is the whistle of wind through the pine trees.

  I cu
rl my arms around myself to stave off the cold. I didn’t bother to carry a coat with me because this was the last place I planned to be by the night’s end. I veer off the designated path onto the remnants of grass. Leaves crunch underfoot. I inch my way past different markers—mothers, fathers, grandparents, and even children—until I reach Jeremy’s tombstone. I hold out the slightest bit of hope there will be a sign of some sort from him. Another feather. A bird song. Even the flutter of bat wings out of the oak tree. But for the first time during one of my visits, it feels like he’s not here at all. I realize the only thing left of him is his name etched into granite and his shell buried inside the ground.

  My grief overwhelms me and I bawl, sending sound waves piercing the quiet air all around. When my sobbing subsides, I hear something near the cemetery entrance, and I seize. My old fears come back to haunt me. Is someone there? A ghost? Or worse, another person prowling the cemetery during the dark. No one in her right mind would willingly come out here alone at night.

  I scour the area, searching for the source. The moonlight reflects off something moving. I stalk toward it. Creep closer and closer. Despite the fact the wind has died down temporarily, a pinwheel turns incessantly near a gravesite. I stoop down to read the inscription. In memory of Charlie Elias Wiest. There’s only one date, which strikes me as strange. Even if this was a child who was born and died on the same day, it should still reflect two dates. The whole thing is creepy. I speed-walk through the entrance and down the street toward home. The brisk air makes me wish I’d stayed in the car and endured Nate’s torture.

  Headlights streak past me, and I pick up my pace, simply anxious to be home in the safety and warmth of my bedroom.

  Another set of headlights, but these crawl to a stop. Terror sweeps over me. Unfortunately, I’m a moving target for predators in my short skirt and too-low sweater. I force myself to move faster, but the car skulks alongside me. The window rolls down, and I consider fleeing into the closest meadow.