Bad Girl Gone

by Temple Mathews

  “They’re on my case!”

  “Who?” said Cole.

  “Everyone! They said it’s cold enough in this drafty old place without me making it colder. And I wasn’t even doing anything. Oh, and there were some guys out front taking pictures.”

  Cole tensed up.

  “What was that about, you think?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. They could be cops, or realtors, or journalists—who knows? The only thing I know is that it’s not good having humans poking around.”

  He stared in at Miss Torvous.

  “Sooner or later we’re going to need her,” he said.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t do it,” I said.

  “I’m going in.”

  He pulled Dougie and Darby and me over to a rusty, old metal storage bin and opened it. There were a dozen or so pairs of thick leather gloves piled up, along with several bags of sea salt. He handed us each a pair of gloves.

  “Here, put these on.”

  We did as he asked. Then he handed Dougie the bag of sea salt. I felt queasy. Dougie burped.

  “Man, this stuff is rank, dude.”

  Cole continued to be all business.

  “She might be in some kind of coma, but if she isn’t and starts kicking up a fuss when I bring her out, go ahead and toss some of this on her.”

  We waited with the gloves on and the bags of salt at the ready. Cole seemed to be in the chamber for a long time and it was making me nervous. I moved over to a peephole and looked in. He was kneeling down and ever so gently scooping her up into his arms. She was limp, like a bird that had crash-landed. His tenderness struck a chord in me, and again my mushy brain was thinking about how he was such an awesome guy. He did have one glaring flaw. The whole “dead” thing. Other than that I was having a tough time finding fault in him.

  He carried Miss Torvous toward the door. I backed up. Dougie and Darby braced, ready to defend themselves.

  “She better not try anything!” said Darby.

  Their concern wasn’t necessary. It was clear that Miss Torvous was totally out of it.

  We followed Cole as he carried her up the long flight of stairs. In the hallway, kids hushed and stared. She never once stirred. Cole took her to her room and we proceeded with him. He laid her on the bed where she sank into the thick down comforter. Cole stepped back and joined our ranks. Miss Torvous was absolutely still. We stood in silence, staring at her for a long time. You could hear the old clock with no hands in the hallway ticking away.

  It was eerie, as if she were some kind of ancient tomb or something we were paying our last respects to. I’d never before noticed how utterly beautiful she was. Cole was the first to break ranks. He moved closer to her, then closer still, his face now inches from hers. He was listening … feeling … perceiving. Cole motioned to me as he leaned even closer to her.

  “I can’t tell if she’s breathing. Help me.”

  I was petrified, but I did what he wanted and stepped forward, moving my face close to hers. She didn’t look completely dead, just very ill. I was contemplating if and how a ghost could die when I felt a tiny stream of breath coming from her nostrils.

  “She’s … breathing, I think,” I said.

  “I think so, too,” he said.

  “The effect of the salt is wearing off,” said Darby. Her voice was shakier than I’d ever heard it before. Cole spoke again to try to calm everyone down.

  “We’re going to be okay. When she wakes up, all we have to do is talk some sense into—”

  Her eyes popped open.

  “Miss Torvous, please don’t be angry. We just wanted—”

  Cole couldn’t finish his sentence. Quick as lightning she grabbed him around the neck, her grip swift and sudden. Her nostrils flared. Her face flushed crimson.

  “You’ll pay for this!”

  We threw gobs of salt on her. As it rained down, she screeched like a velociraptor. Cole wrenched himself free but she leapt up and was on him like a crazed lioness.

  Dougie and Darby were pelting her with the sea salt, but all it was doing at this point was pissing her off. Cole looked sick as a dog. I remembered the small framed picture that Zipperhead had dislodged while jumping on her bed. Was it Miss Torvous as a girl? Was it her sister? Mother? Daughter?

  I remembered how she looked at me when I’d gone into her room before she melted down. She’d called me “darling.” Her gaze had been soft as though she adored me. She felt some connection to me—I just didn’t know what it was, but I had to take a shot.

  “Mommy!”

  She released Cole. Her head swiveled on her body as though she were a giant doll. Her eyes found mine. Was she looking at me? Or looking into the past?

  “Corrine?”

  I felt a tingling on the back of my neck. Darby’s and Dougie’s eyes were bulging. They couldn’t move. I spoke gently to her.

  “Please don’t hurt him. It’s me you want.”

  She softened and rose to her feet.

  “You came back to me,” she said.

  She floated over—it was weird because we’d never seen her ghost float before—and she touched my cheek with her cold hand, cold on cold.

  “Came back?” I whispered, terrified.

  “Yes, Corrine … I’ve missed you so much.”

  I had to play along. I placed my arms around her.

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  I looked at Darby and Dougie and did my best to speak with my eyes. Get him out of here! They understood and helped Cole from the room, gently closing the door behind them.

  “Can we sit down?” I asked.

  “Of course, darling,” she said.

  We moved to the overstuffed settee and sat. She cupped my face in her hands.

  “I loved it when you called me Mother.”

  I smiled. But I was getting nervous. I bit my lip and couldn’t keep my foot from tapping.

  “Miss Torvous…”

  She hardened slightly and cocked her head to one side.

  “Darling, you don’t have to—”

  “Who am I? I mean, who do I remind you of?”

  This was it. I was going to find out the truth. She was going to destroy me.

  “Corrine, sweetheart…”

  “My name is Echo. Echo Stone.”

  She wouldn’t look at me. Instead, her gaze bounced around the room. She rubbed the back of her neck and clenched her teeth.

  “I’m not Corrine, Miss Torvous.”

  She looked like she might explode again. Who knew what she was capable of? But I’d gone this far and couldn’t back down.

  “You can work us to the bone, but that’s never going to bring her back. Please … tell me?”

  I took another chance and ever so gently placed my hand on top of hers. She looked down at it. It was do-or-die time. Was she going to destroy me or open up and share her dark secret? It was so quiet I thought I could hear my own heart beating. She raised her gaze slowly up to mine. Her eyes welled with tears. She pointed a long, slender finger at the bureau.

  “Top drawer. Under the clothing.”

  I couldn’t imagine what was in the drawer, but I knew whatever it was, it would change everything.

  TRAGIC

  I rose and opened the drawer. Under a stack of a young girl’s clothing was a newspaper. A page-two article with the headline “A Tragic Fatality.”

  I looked over at Miss Torvous. She was as still as a stone. Her lips barely moved as she said, “Go ahead and read it.”

  She clenched her eyes shut tight, as though expecting to be struck. She spoke again.

  “Out loud.”

  I did as she asked.

  “Shortly after midnight on July 19th, paramedics responded to a call from 4581 Moorland Street, where they encountered the body of a young girl, apparently the daughter of Mrs. Emily Torvous, 34, who was incoherent at the scene. The girl was rushed to Saint John’s Hospital where doctors were unable to revive her. The cause of death was repor
ted to be severe head and neck trauma. A medical spokesperson stated that the injuries sustained were consistent with being struck by a car. Mrs. Torvous has been admitted to the Bonner Hills Mental Facility for evaluation.”

  I looked over at her. She was shaking her head and let out a long, low moan. Her voice trembled.

  “I couldn’t live with myself after that. Phenobarbital. Ten grams. It did the trick.”

  So that was it. She’d run over her daughter, then taken her own life.

  “It was an accident,” I said. I didn’t know if that was true, but I felt like it had to be and I wanted to ease her pain.

  “I was drunk.”

  There wasn’t much to say to that. She’d made the worst mistake I could possibly imagine: getting smashed and running over your own kid. No wonder she went off the deep end. I didn’t blame her and it was way too late to judge her. I went and put my arms around her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She let me hold her for a moment.

  “Will you let me call you Corrine? And hold you?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Sweet Corrine,” she said. And put her arms around me and sobbed. She needed this. And I missed my own mother so much that maybe I did, too. I began to sob along with her, and after a few moments, we’d cried all the tears that were due.

  She wanted to hold me and, truth be told, I didn’t mind being held. So we stayed that way, mother and surrogate daughter, for a long, long time, and eventually fell asleep.

  Then we heard a pounding on the front door. It was morning. Cole and Darby entered quickly.

  “Miss Torvous?”

  She was starting to zone out again, going back into the delusional trance that was keeping her terrible guilt at bay.

  “Leave me alone. I’m with my daughter!”

  The banging on the door continued. I moved to the window. Snoopy Mrs. Reiner was on the front porch with two policemen, one short, one tall.

  “I’m telling you, there’s something going on in this place! I heard things all night long!”

  “We can’t search the premises without a warrant, ma’am,” said Shorty.

  “But what if she’s dead? What if some teenagers or gang members broke in and killed her?”

  The cops exchanged a tired look.

  “I’m not going to let up on this,” said Mrs. Reiner. “I have a sixth sense about these things. I know for a fact that there’s something abnormal in this house!”

  She had that right. Boy, did she ever. The cops stepped away from her and were conferring. It didn’t look good. Especially when the tall one went to the squad car, popped open the trunk, and lifted out a battering ram. Shorty put a hand up.

  “Probable cause?”

  “The lady says she heard sounds of violence. That’s enough cause for me,” said the tall cop.

  They were about a minute away from smashing open the front door. And if they found Miss Torvous like this …

  I had to act quickly. I went to her and took her face in my hands. I couldn’t be Echo if I wanted to get through to her brain from her heart.

  “Mother?”

  Her eyes were glazed over.

  “Mommy, listen to me!”

  I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  “I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Corrine?” she said.

  I had broken through. “I’m not Corrine, not your daughter. But believe me when I tell you that I am speaking for her. She’s speaking through me. And she forgives you.”

  Miss Torvous closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She sobbed again, her chest heaving, then pulled herself together, dabbing at her eyes. She finally heard the loud banging on the front door.

  “What’s going on? Cole?” she said.

  She stood up, her back ramrod straight.

  “It’s the police. I think they’re trying to break the door down. They think you’re dead or something.”

  “Well, they’re not entirely wrong,” she said.

  A tight smile formed on her lips, then was gone in a second. She was back to her old self.

  She marched to the front door and opened it. Mrs. Reiner shuffled back a step and blinked, her mouth opening.

  “Hello, Mrs. Reiner,” said Miss Torvous, cool as can be. “Is there something wrong on the grounds?”

  “Um … no. Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Never better. How can I help you, gentlemen?”

  She smiled at the cops. It was a wonderful power she had, being able to put on a façade so that living people could see nothing but a normal human being when a ghost lurked inside. The cops exchanged a glance, then gave a dirty look to Mrs. Reiner.

  “This was just a routine check. Nothing to worry about.”

  Mrs. Reiner wasn’t satisfied.

  “But … she … the noise…” she said.

  “As I said, just a routine check,” the tall cop stated.

  “You have a nice day,” said the shorter of the two cops.

  “I intend to,” said Miss Torvous. “Tell your husband the back hedge needs trimming, will you, Mrs. Reiner?”

  Mrs. Reiner was nodding numbly as Miss Torvous closed the front door.

  The headmistress turned to us.

  “Let’s get this place cleaned up,” she said.

  Everyone moved very quickly. Torvous was back. We worked for hours getting things back to normal, sweeping and mopping and cleaning, and dinner that night was a pleasantly quiet affair, with only a few kids fooling around. Cole walked me to my room where we lingered in the doorway. Lucy, in her cat incarnation, was asleep on her bed, her tail twitching.

  “You did fantastic today,” said Cole.

  “I only did what I had to.”

  “Don’t get mad, but … seeing you like that, acting so smart and cool under pressure, it made me…” His voice trailed off as he blushed.

  “It made you what?”

  “It made me want you even more. And I didn’t think that could ever be possible.”

  I wanted him, too, wanted to tell him so, but I had to hold back. I had business to take care of and I was terrified that if I let my feelings for Cole ripen and mature, I would fall into an abyss, plunging into a crushing love that would consume me forever. So instead of telling him what I felt in my heart, I stared at some imaginary point behind him and told a lie.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good thing.”

  My words shredded him. He tried to cover it up and did a crappy job. I could tell I’d hurt him.

  “I … I don’t understand, but I respect you, Echo. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, even if that means leaving you alone.”

  It felt like a fist was squeezing my heart.

  “I think that’s the best thing,” I lied again. What is wrong with you, Echo? said one voice. You’re trying to do the right thing! said another.

  Cole nodded ever so slowly, then turned and floated down the hallway, his shoulders slumped. I wanted to cry out to him, Come back here—I’m falling in love with you! But I just watched him go. I wasn’t sure if I was the bravest girl in the world or a big, fat coward. In seconds, he’d turned the corner and was gone.

  That night, I willed myself to sleep thinking of Andy. But after I’d fallen asleep, I dreamt of Cole.

  In the morning, I looked for him but he wasn’t there.

  VETTING

  I told myself I was going to Andy’s house to investigate his father, Hank, but a nagging voice was calling bullshit on me.

  All you really want to do is check on Andy, be physically close to him—you’re still holding out hope, you idiot.

  It was true that I wanted to be close to Andy. I loved his smell, his laugh, and the way he touched me, like he really cared for me. Of course that was all in the past now, so I wasn’t really sure what I was doing. Maybe I’d stung Cole so badly I was afraid I would lose him forever, too. I told myself that I couldn’t love Cole; I didn’t know him well enough yet. My naggin
g voice called bullshit again. You dumb-ass! You already love Cole so much you can feel it with every breath you take.

  It was true. I was caught in the middle. Not alive and not all the way dead and gone. In love with a living human boy and a ghost boy at the same time. They were both pulling at me. If I didn’t fix things soon, I felt like my heart would be ripped in half.

  It was early on a Sunday morning. Andy was in bed sleeping. I hovered above him for a long time, my face just inches away from his. I loved feeling his warm breath on me. I wanted to kiss him in the worst way, but I just floated there above him. I didn’t want to wake him up or freak him out in case he could sense me. He stirred in bed and pulled the sheet away from his body. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and I felt an ache as I stared down at his sculpted stomach. I wanted to crawl in bed with him, wanted to press my body against his. But I didn’t have a body, so he wouldn’t feel a thing, except maybe something like a cool breeze. I was starting to feel pervy for spying on him like this.

  “I miss you, baby. I’ll always miss you,” I said. Then I added what I thought I needed to, to convince myself that what I was doing was the right thing, and not completely insane.

  “I want you to be happy, even if it’s with … Dani.”

  I almost choked when I said her name, but I had to say it because at some point I really would have to start believing it. I didn’t now, not for a second, but I had to keep working on that. I loved Andy with my whole being, and loving someone is supposed to mean that you care more about them than you do about yourself. At least that’s what my grandma Tilly used to say. I clearly had a lot of self-work to do. For starters, I had to stop worshiping my former (god, how I hated that word) boyfriend and find the ass face who murdered me. Was it Hank? I would do everything I could to find out.

  I heard some pots banging around downstairs, so I headed down. Hank was in the kitchen, cleaning up his breakfast dishes. Even when he was alone he looked mean, and I didn’t like getting too close to him. He was dressed in slacks and a nerdy short-sleeved white shirt and went into the hallway where he grabbed a clip-on tie and put it on. Then he went into the family room and opened the drawer of an old desk and pulled out a King James Bible.