No way had Andy killed me, I thought. You don’t kill the person you love. But in my logical mind, I knew better. One phrase kept leaping up. Crimes of passion.
Dani was still working on Andy. He didn’t look like he wanted affection but eventually gave in and kissed her. I felt like a crazed butterfly was trapped in my heart. But thankfully the kiss didn’t last very long. Andy pulled away. He didn’t look like he’d enjoyed it at all. A victory for me, but thinking that thought made me feel small and bitter.
“Is something wrong?” she said. Her voice was soft and plaintive. Andy didn’t answer her. She sighed.
“I get it. It’s too soon. Well, I’m in no hurry; I can wait. You’re worth it.”
She put her head on his shoulder. It was obvious that he had zero chemistry with her. Their kiss hadn’t been like any of the kisses we’d experienced—the kind that curl your toes and tingle your spine. I missed those kisses. By the look of things, so did he. It made me feel warm. Concentrate, Echo!
I became plagued wondering about Mr. Hemming, my head pounding. Andy took the coins from his pocket and held them in his palm. One of them wasn’t a coin at all. It was my missing Saint Christopher medallion.
GIRLS
“Are you sure the medallion is yours?”
I gave Cole a withering look.
“Okay, I believe you—it’s yours. But it doesn’t prove that he killed you.”
“Well, it appears he has violent tendencies. He was about to chop my boyfriend’s head off.”
It was a small thing, but when I said “boyfriend,” I saw a flicker of hurt in Cole’s eyes. He set his jaw and moved me back from Andy and Dani. She was still snuggling next to him and I was glad to back off, too, so I followed Cole. We floated up and sat on the roof of a nearby house.
“Hemming was in his own house—he could have thought it was an intruder or something.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“I’m not; I’m just playing devil’s advocate to be safe. I want to find your killer as bad as you do. I just don’t want to rush to judgment. You have to try and remember what happened.”
We sat together, just thinking. Then Cole had an idea.
“Does being around Hemming bring back any memories?”
“Yeah, but only positive things.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so. Maybe … some other things, but they’re vague. I really have a hard time thinking he’s the one who did me in. It makes no sense.”
“Maybe you should just enter him.”
He was right. I should try. Andy had suspicions, and that meant I should, too.
We left Andy and Dani and zoomed back to Hemming’s house, passing through the side wall.
Hemming was in his office working at his computer. He was deleting files from his hard drive. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. He was in list view, so I couldn’t see what he was deleting. It could have been anything. But I had an uneasy feeling. Hemming had a thin line of nervous sweat rimming his upper lip.
I had to get him to stop so I could take a look.
“Just enter him if you can, right now,” Cole said.
“No,” I said, “the answer is right here. Cole, I need you to get him out of the room.”
“Any suggestions?”
“No, just please do it, and now, okay?” My voice was sharper than I’d meant it, but time was slipping away. Cole zoomed out of the room. In seconds came the sound of a fire alarm. Mr. Hemming jumped up from his desk and ran out of his office.
I got right on the computer. My fingers manipulated the keys, trying every combination I could think of, but I was getting nowhere. The files were disappearing in a blur. Then I had a flash of memory. In private Hemming had called me his “little goddess.” I tried it. It worked, because the screen froze. On a naked girl. So he’s into porn. Big deal—what man isn’t? I was thinking this whole Hemming thing was a false lead. Then JPEGs began opening up in a flurry. My hands flew protectively to my chest. I was stunned.
There were more photos of girls, around my age, some even younger, in compromising poses. More and more and more photos popped onto the screen. I felt an onslaught of shock as I recognized some of the girls—my classmates. Hemming was a twisted pervo! Several of the most prim-and-proper girls in school had shed their clothing and let Mr. Hemming capture their nakedness. Images of myself flashed in my mind. I saw expressions on my face that I knew were sultry, not my usual style. I tried to remember being alone with Hemming, maybe even posing for him. But I couldn’t get my brain to cooperate.
The kitchen alarm stopped. I highlighted as many of the photos as I could and created a folder on his desktop and dragged them into it. There were dozens and dozens.
“COLE!” I screamed.
He was in the doorway in an instant.
“I need another diversion!”
He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared and I heard Hemming coming. He was heading back to his office when he stopped in the doorway, angry.
“Goddammit!”
I could hear water running somewhere in the house. It sounded like a shower. Cole must have turned it on. It would buy me precious time. Hemming went to turn the water off.
The files finally finished copying. Then I logged into my e-mail account and sent the folder to myself. It was a large file and was taking forever to upload and send.
I heard Hemming coming back from turning off the shower. My first instinct was to run, but why should I? How could I be afraid of him now? I was already dead. I flew to the door and slammed it right in his face, literally, hitting him hard.
I rushed and unplugged his computer. Something made me stop and stare at the side of it, where you’d attach an external hard drive. A flash of lightning went off in my head as I had a quick memory of a hand yanking out a hard drive cord.
Hemming rushed into the room. He was sweaty and nervous. His eyes darted around from the closet to the windows and back to the doorway. He was trying to figure out what was going on. He had no answers, but he wasn’t panicking. He calmly plugged his computer back in and froze when he saw that his computer was somehow logged into my e-mail. He shivered, clearly creeped out, then pulled himself together and deleted the e-mail and attachment. And emptied his trash folder. So much for my tech-savvy detective work and plan to expose him via e-mail.
He slowly scanned the room, then stared down at the keyboard. I knew what he was wondering. How had this happened? He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He had a look of fear on his face, then acceptance, then determination.
He logged on to a meditation site. Ocean waves. Then he sat on the floor and assumed a lotus position and began to hum along with the meditation. Creepy.
Cole came in and stood by me as we watched Hemming. He looked like the nicest, most passive man you could ever meet. Cole was confused.
“I don’t get it. I mean, you really think he’s the one who—”
“He’s a sicko who manipulated a lot of girls into posing nude for him. His computer had thousands of pictures on it!”
Cole’s eyes went wide, then narrowed as he nodded, not saying anything just yet, but I could tell he was formulating a question that he didn’t yet have the guts to ask me. So I just flat-out told him. Or started to, anyway.
“Um, Cole, I think I might have…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence, because I was too damn embarrassed and I wasn’t 100 percent sure I’d actually done what I was afraid I’d done. My words had given birth to an idea and by now Cole knew exactly what I was talking about. He spoke very softly.
“You posed for him?”
“I don’t know!” My words were like bullets. I didn’t mean to fire at him like that but it just came out. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay—you’re only human.”
“Was.”
I felt ugly and shameful.
“Echo, no matter what you did, you’re still human in my book.”
I could see the truth in
his eyes. It didn’t matter what I’d done when I was alive. Cole cared for me now. I walked back and forth in front of Hemming. I had to know the truth.
“I’d enter him and try and see what happened, but look how calm he is right now. He’s like some freakin’ Zen master or something.”
Cole and I looked around. Hemming had bookshelves full of books on not only psychology and sociology, but meditation and spirituality in a dozen different cultures. He was into mind control big-time.
Cole used his power to fling a dozen books from the shelves. Amazingly, Hemming barely flinched. I lunged at him but couldn’t enter him. He was too calm.
“Okay, just stay here with him for a minute. See if you can remember anything.”
I did what Cole asked. I looked at Hemming. Like before, every time I tried to recall anything, my head began to pound unmercifully. I tried again and again but it wasn’t going to happen.
“I can’t do it.”
Cole took my hand in his.
“There’s another way to retrieve memories,” he said.
He just kept staring at me, like he was trying to memorize every square inch of my face. I blushed.
“Are you going to enlighten me or do I have to guess?”
“Follow me,” he said.
He led me to Hemming’s bedroom and beelined to the closet.
“Pick out something you’ve seen him wear.”
My eyes found it immediately. A burgundy cotton pullover sweater. I took it from the hanger.
“Let’s go,” said Cole.
“Where?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
Sweater in hand, I followed Cole. We went back out through the front door and then ran until we flew. Anyone watching would have seen a burgundy sweater being swept through the sky by the wind.
We found a forest glen. Cole saw a comfy spot of grass and sat down, and beckoned me to do the same, holding out a hand. I took it, and he pulled me down onto the grass. Slender shafts of sunlight filtered through the overhead sylvan canopy. I felt like I was on some kind of dream date. But there was business at hand.
“Okay, now hold the sweater with both hands. Touch it as much as you like, even with your cheek.”
After seeing the pictures of all those girls, I didn’t want to touch the sweater, let alone with my cheek!
“Go on,” said Cole. “You have to be open to the truth.”
I touched the sweater, rubbed it, ran my fingers along the seams. I felt incredibly stupid.
“This isn’t working.”
“Stop rushing, stop pushing,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you thinking about?”
I was thinking about how the sweater would look great on him, especially if he wasn’t wearing a T-shirt.
“I’m thinking of a bajillion things at once.”
“Try to clear your mind.”
“How?”
“Focus on your breathing.”
I did that, and the many thoughts and images that were clamoring for attention in my brain gradually began to subside. I could feel the sweater more intensely now, and I imagined the essence of Mr. Hemming flowing through it and into my arms, into my veins, and up into my brain.
Nothing happened for a long time. But then, like a blurry, old home video, images began to take shape.
“It’s … I’m…”
“Shhhh.…” said Cole.
I breathed in slowly through my nose and exhaled through my mouth.
“Maybe close your eyes,” said Cole. “And let yourself just … be.”
I was so freaking nervous the last thing I wanted to do was close my eyes, but I did. I breathed deeply. After a long moment of letting myself calm down, I began to smell the scent of the pine needles and wild grass. I felt the air on my pale ghost skin. I wasn’t trying to force anything, I was just holding the sweater. And then it happened. The images began to come to me in waves. My scalp tingled. I was remembering.
I felt my body slacken, as though I were folding into myself. My chin began to tremble. I spoke in a whisper, describing everything to Cole as the memories came to me. I saw Mr. Hemming’s face after school one day. He was smiling, trying to be a regular guy, a “buddy,” but he couldn’t completely hide his sleazy, leering grin. The worst thing was, I felt so insecure that I almost liked it, liked the fact that a man could find me, little old me, attractive. The images kept coming, everything gradually sharpening into focus.
I was in the den at his house on a settee. He had his camera. I was wearing this very same sweater. That had to be why I chose it—it was my unconscious speaking to me. Hemming’s voice was velvety smooth as he coaxed me into pulling the sweater this way and that and into finally removing it entirely. He was talking about the movie Titanic and how brave Kate Winslet was when she posed nude and now how “brave” I was and so very, very, unsettlingly—that was the word he used—beautiful. In those moments I had lost myself and I did feel beautiful as his words washed over me, caressing my ego.
“Don’t be ashamed, be proud. Shame and regret are simply constructs of the ruling class. To keep us in line. You’re not doing anything wrong here, Echo. God, you’re really something.”
He kept firing away with his camera and his mouth.
“You can have total control of your mind and what you think of. You just have to shift your focus when you think of something that makes you feel bad.”
“I … I don’t know how to do that…” I said.
“It takes mental effort—that’s all.”
He told me that I could have total control of my mind by simply guiding my thoughts where I wanted them to be. He told me to think of myself as what I was, a great beauty posing for a great artist. A Mona Lisa. His words resonated and I did his bidding, his soft voice a siren song, his words manipulating me into moving in ways I’d only dreamt of in private.
“You have no idea the power you possess with your beautiful body, do you?”
“No,” I said.
Hemming had me trapped in his web—I was powerless—until I heard other words from other voices, my parents, my aunts and uncles, and the room began spinning. Mr. Hemming kept shooting, the shutter firing off like a machine gun, short bursts of clicks. When it stopped, an ugly silence settled on the room. Feelings bubbled up inside me. I knew I had done the wrong thing and was filled with shame.
Mr. Hemming kept praising me—“Good girl, good girl…”—like I was some dumb dog.
Anger and shame built up inside me. I got up quickly and put my clothes on.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“I … I have to go,” I said.
“Come here. Please? I just want to touch you—that’s all.”
I backed up, afraid.
“Life is what you make of it,” he said. “If you think it’s bad, it can be bad. If, on the other hand, you think that every moment, every experience, is a blessed gift, then that can be your truth. Our truth.”
He approached me and touched my shoulder and looked like he was going to kiss me or something. I felt like throwing up. I backed away from his touch.
“I … I want you to delete all of those,” I said.
“That’s not going to happen,” he said. His voice was clipped and angry. But then he got all warm and fuzzy again.
“What you’re experiencing is a common feeling, and it will pass. You’re beautiful; we’ve just made art together. Okay?”
I knew it was useless to argue with him. So I just nodded.
“This is between us, our secret, right?”
I nodded again—what the hell else was I going to do?
I let myself out the front door and began walking fast. And then I ran. My lungs were aching as I made it home and crawled into my bed. I tried to fight the tears, but I cried like a baby for an hour. Then I heard a knock on my door. I prayed it wasn’t who I thought it was.
MURDER
Andy stepped into the room. He asked why my eyes were all red. H
ad I been crying? I mumbled some lame excuse about allergies. But he knew better, knew something had happened. His eyes hardened but he didn’t press me on it and we never talked about it again.
I opened my eyes and looked at Cole. He’d heard my whole narration, everything, all the sordid details, and yet I saw no judgment in his eyes.
Leaves made shuffling sounds as a cool breeze swept through the glen. Cole spoke, his voice warm and forgiving.
“Can you keep going?”
Closing my eyes again, I continued to clutch the sweater. I could. I spoke softly, telling Cole everything I saw. Again I saw Hemming. Only now he wasn’t smiling. His face was twisted in anger and he was yelling. Things shifted. I was at school, in his office, at his computer, typing furiously. I heard a noise but didn’t look up until it was too late. Mr. Hemming ran into the room and lunged for me. But I was quick. I unplugged his external hard drive and ran for the door. He grabbed at my shoulder and I bit him, hard. He yelled in pain. Then I was out the door.
I was breathing heavily now but the memory of my fateful day and night was coming back to me in bursts so fast that I could hardly keep up. I ran to the parking lot. Then I was speeding in my mom’s car. My eyes were bloodshot from crying. I tried calling someone on my phone but my battery was dead. I kept looking in the rearview mirror so often I almost ran over an old lady struggling with her aluminum walker on the curb. I cursed. A car was behind me. I couldn’t tell if it was Hemming or not. I slammed my foot on the gas.
The memory was making my head feel light, as though it might detach from my body and float into the air. My breathing was hard and fast. I hoped I wouldn’t pass out. Cole touched my hand. It anchored me and I held on to the memory and rode it through.
I skidded to a halt in front of my house. I looked over. Andy wasn’t home. Dammit! Neither was Mom or Dad. The safe haven I’d counted on hadn’t materialized. Squeezing the hard drive in my fist, I ran into the house, slammed the door, and locked it. My chest was heaving, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. I risked a glance outside. No one was coming after me. Yet. I ran into the kitchen and plugged my phone into a charger, then to the front window and prayed. Maybe he’d given up. Maybe he knew that I would turn him in and he was already packing up to get the hell out of town. I almost relaxed, thinking of him running away from me. But then my heart jumped. Hemming’s car slid silently like a shark into the driveway. He’d cut the engine.
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