The Ghost Runner

by Blair Richmond

“I believe I am real.”

  “It’s been a long time,” I say, looking him over, still shocked to see him.

  “You look good.”

  “So do you.”

  He glances down at my legs. “I’m sorry about the scratches.”

  “So it was you,” I say. “It was you who saved me from the tree.”

  He nods.

  “Why didn’t you stay?”

  “I was keeping my promise not to bother you again. At least until you asked me to return. When I heard you calling out just now, I took the liberty of assuming it was me you were calling for. I hope I was correct.”

  “Maybe,” I say. I’m not sure I want to go into detail about the ghost runner, at least not yet. All I want to do right now is go to Roman and put my arms around him, raise my face to his. I want to feel his lips on mine, to surrender to what I’ve been trying to ignore for so very long.

  But first, I need to say what I’ve been hoping I’d have a chance to tell him. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I know now that it was Alex, not you.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Nobody is innocent.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me? You didn’t have to leave.”

  “I did have to leave,” he says. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  I shake my head, confused.

  “I couldn’t stand seeing you and not being able to talk to you, to reach out and touch you. That’s why I sent you the tickets. That’s why I sat next to you that night. I hoped I could win you back, the only way I knew how. And when I failed, I knew there would be only one other way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Vampires live a life of suspended animation,” he says. “For us, there is no beginning, and there is no end. There is no arc of life we must follow because death is not on our horizon. Humans think they want immortality, yet it can be a tedious existence.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You asked me to change my diet. And it may seem trivial to you, but for me, it was tantamount to killing a part of myself.”

  “Are you saying—” I don’t dare to hope for what I think he’s saying.

  “Old habits are hard to break,” he says. “Especially after many lifetimes. Especially after so many years of living the same way.”

  “What are you saying, Roman?”

  “I’ve given up my old ways.”

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve giving up on killing people?”

  “I’ve given up on killing any mammal.”

  I can’t believe it. “How long has it been?”

  “Five weeks.”

  I remember Alex telling me how hard it was to make the transition. “How are you holding up?”

  He grimaces slightly. “Fairly well.”

  I don’t know what to say. “Roman, I’m so happy. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I hope you’re not doing this just for me. You have to change for your own reasons.”

  “Initially,” he says, “it was all about you, Katherine. How could it not be? But I came to realize, after I began this journey, that as difficult as it was to change, I was met with an equally powerful sense of relief. I no longer carried the guilt. I no longer felt the fear of somebody discovering me. I no longer harbored this anger toward the world and what I’d become. I did believe that I was made a certain way and that I could never change. And yet I was wrong.”

  I’m amazed to hear these words coming out of his mouth. To know that he and I have something in common now. To know how badly he wanted to be with me. And how badly I want to be with him right now. I can feel my body being drawn to his. I take a step toward him.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says. “More than you know.”

  He takes a step closer. A few inches separate us, and I’m waiting, helpless to take one more step. But then reality surges back into my mind, the reality of my father and everything that’s happened, and just as Roman reaches out for me, I take a step back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Since you’ve been gone, I’ve made a mess of things here.”

  “Tell me,” he says.

  I explain everything—my father, the land, Ed Jacobs, my lawyer, and how the town is just one protest march away from chasing me away from Lithia for good.

  “I can handle your father.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m tempted, trust me, but I don’t want any violence. Besides, look how far you’ve come. It’s not worth it.”

  Roman’s eyes have reddened, and I see that carnivorous glow.

  “Roman,” I warn, “don’t even think about it. He’s my father. And even though I hate him like the devil right now, nobody deserves that fate. There has to be another way.”

  “Which is?”

  “I haven’t figured it out yet. That’s why I’m up here. Trying to clear my head, I suppose.”

  “I’ll help you,” Roman says, and I’m so touched and so relieved by his simple promise that tears spring to my eyes.

  I wipe my eyes and quickly change the subject. “How long have you been back in Lithia?”

  “A few days. I wanted to find the right place, the right time, to see you. Not in front of everyone. I’m not exactly well liked by the locals these days.”

  “Welcome to the club. Are you back in Victor’s house?”

  “No. Victor and I had a falling out.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “For the same reason I was so upset with Alex when he turned vegan.”

  “But it’s your decision, isn’t it? Your body.”

  “Victor made me who I am. He feels a sense of ownership.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means—for now at least—that I’m without an address.”

  “Homeless.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Then where do you sleep at night?”

  “In the park.”

  “I’ve got news for you, Roman. That’s the definition of homeless.”

  “What are you smiling at?”

  I catch myself. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just that the tables have really turned between us. When I first met you, I’d been the one living on the street, and now it’s you.”

  “Leave it to you, Katherine, to find the irony in things.”

  Roman cracks his rare but gorgeous smile, and I feel my heart going weak again. “I’ve saved up a little money,” I say. “I’ll put you up at the Lithia Springs Hotel.”

  “I couldn’t ask that of you.”

  “You don’t have to ask. I insist.”

  There is an awkward moment of silence between us. Something has changed, and it’s not just him. I’ve grown, too, I realize. I’m here smiling with him, paying for his hotel room. For the first time in my life I feel like an adult.

  “Are you going to get your job back?” I ask.

  “I will try. As you know, I didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

  “They’ll want you back.”

  “They may want me, but they may not take me.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “Well, I suppose, if all else fails, I’ll beg.”

  “You? Beg for your job?”

  “Yes. You see, I realized something about myself recently. I realized that I need the theater more than it needs me. I realized something else as well.”

  He looks deep into my eyes, and I feel him about to say what I’ve long wanted him to say but have also dreaded. It scares me, so I cut him off.

  “Hold that thought,” I say.

  “Katherine.”

  “It’s getting late. I’ve got school. Rehearsal.”

  He relents with a sigh, and we begin to walk down the trail, toward town. It’s a blazingly hot day, and I’m parched and ready for a long drink of water.

  I also find that I’m ready for civilization. Thanks to Roman, I feel as though I can face the world again.

  Roman reaches out for my hand, and I notice I’m stil
l holding the rock. I look down at it. My lucky rock. Perhaps it really is lucky after all.

  “What’s that?” Roman asks.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say. “Just something I found. Fool’s gold.”

  “It doesn’t look like fool’s gold to me.”

  “I was told it was.”

  Roman shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I’d get a second opinion.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  We continue down the hill, hand in hand. Knowing Roman is here, on my side, I feel optimistic that I can right the wrongs I’ve caused. That the answers will come. I just have to be patient.

  Twenty-seven

  The antique store is located in an alley off the square, with a homely sign hanging above the door advertising antiques, gold & silver. I never would have come to this little place if Roman hadn’t recommended it. I open the creaky door and step inside.

  I pause to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The place does have lights, but they are mostly dim bulbs in antique desk lamps with green shades. I feel the urge to duck as I walk farther in because there are chandeliers, old neon signs, and rusty farm implements hanging from the ceiling. I have to turn sideways to get between two overstuffed bookcases. Everywhere there is clutter, and dust, and overflowing boxes of postcards and Life magazines, and even the occasional brass spittoon.

  I finally make it to the front desk, or what I believe is the front desk. There is a shiny antique cash register there, and when I see a silver bell I ding it. But I hear no signs of movement behind the doorway just beyond the desk. As I look around the shop, I glimpse a collage of faded black-and-white photos against one wall.

  I approach the wall, feeling a surge of excitement as I get nearer. The photos appear to be from the Gold Rush era: men standing next to rivers with pickaxes, men standing next to mine shafts, and one picture of a man behind a huge water gun aimed at the side of a hill.

  One photo in particular catches my eye: a group of men standing in front of a saloon. They are smiling, all except for one, a young man who looks strikingly similar to Roman. I squint and move in, closer and closer until my nose bumps the glass.

  “Can I help you?”

  Startled, I jump back so quickly that the man behind me lurches backward himself—right into a bookcase, sending books cascading to the floor all around us.

  “Easy!” he says. “You scared me.”

  I look him over. His gray hair is standing on end, as if he’s just been caught in a vicious wind, and his glasses hang off his weathered nose. He’s wearing suspenders and worn gray slacks, which look too big for him.

  “You scared me first,” I say.

  “I thought you heard me coming.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Well, that bell you rang—what did you think would happen when you rang it? And, by the way, you woke me up.”

  I’m starting to wonder why Roman suggested I come here. “If you didn’t want me using the bell,” I ask, “why do you have it out there in the first place?”

  “It’s an antique,” the man says. “I keep hoping someone will buy the darn thing instead of ringing it. It’s yours for ten bucks.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Your sign says you sell gold. Do you buy gold, too?”

  “Sometimes. Whaddaya got?”

  I take the rock from my pocket and hand it to him. He holds it up, then goes to his desk. He flips on a lamp and holds a magnifying glass up to it.

  “Where’d you get this?” he asks.

  “I found it.”

  “I figured that much. Where?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I ask.

  “Because what you’ve got here is a chunk of twenty-four carat gold.”

  “It is?”

  “Darn rooting tooting. And a damn fine specimen.” He taps a small hammer against it. “See how soft it is, how it bends so easily? That’s one way you can tell it’s real gold and not fool’s gold.”

  “The guy at the pawn shop told me it was fool’s gold.”

  “Figures. That joker was hoping that you were the fool that would give it to him for next to nothing, right?”

  I nod.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. He’s probably out looking for the source right now. You tell him where you found it?”

  “I just told him that it was along the Lost Mine Trail. But I was far off the trail when I found it.”

  He weighs it with his hand. “This here’s worth about eight hundred dollars, maybe more. I’ll have to weigh it and all if you want to go through with selling it.”

  “Eight hundred dollars? Really?”

  “You think I’d lie to you? Now, are you going to tell me where you found it?”

  “I don’t remember exactly.”

  His eyes are wide and focused hard on me, and I feel a bit uncomfortable suddenly.

  “Don’t be coy with me, missy,” he says. “I know you know.”

  “Even if I did,” I say, “I want it to remain a secret.”

  “It will be our secret,” he says. “I help you mine the rest, we can divvy it up fifty-fifty.”

  “No.”

  “Fine, I’ll give you sixty percent.”

  He takes a step toward me, and even though he’s old and I’m taller, I take a step backward and bump into another bookcase.

  “Excuse me, Mr.—”

  “Call me Max.”

  “Excuse me, Max, but I honestly can’t remember. I was just out for a run, and I’d probably never be able to find that spot again. And I’ve changed my mind about selling it, so I’ll take it back, please.”

  He looks away from me, then down at the gold. I extend my hand and glare at him until he snaps out of whatever spell he was under. He exhales and shakes his head, then drops the nugget into my hand. He retreats back behind his desk.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You just witnessed what’s wrong. You saw how I got when I held onto that nugget.”

  I nod.

  “That’s what gold does to people. Makes them crazy. Makes them do things to the land, to each other, that they shouldn’t be doing.”

  This I understand all too well. “Those photos on the wall,” I say. “Those are gold miners, right?”

  “Yeah, they were gold miners, before they got buried alive. Poor souls. But that’s what I’m telling you. People have been fighting over this land long before I got here. You’ve got some who’d just as soon tear it all down, and then you got those who stand up and say no. But with gold—well, it’s hard to say no to gold.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I say.

  “Let me give you some free advice, missy. Don’t ever tell anyone about this place. You hear me? Never. There are people here who’d leave you for dead if it meant finding a line of gold. That metal does something to people. It ain’t just the money either, though that’s what people think it is. It’s something else. It’s about feeling special. Like you’ve been given a gift from the earth, fortunate enough to touch this rare substance at its source. Not many people are so lucky in life, and they’ll lose their minds if they think you know where that source is.”

  “I suppose some secrets are better left secret.”

  “That’s right. Now, if you want to sell that off, you know where I am. Otherwise, I’d keep my mouth shut about it if I were you.”

  I thank him and exit the store. I should be happy that my little good-luck rock is worth so much, but as I walk back through town I feel a sense of insecurity that I didn’t feel before I learned that this was real gold. Now I’m worried about that strange man at the pawn shop, who definitely knows. And I’m worried that he’s got people scouring the woods right now looking for that hole that I fell into.

  I look down at the sparkling nugget in my hand, at the way it catches the light. I think about the good it could do—but this is only eight hundred dollars’ worth, not nearly enough to solve my problems. And how can I find the rest
and sell enough to buy my land back without causing the next big gold rush?

  Max is right. Even if I ever do manage find that place again, I already know what needs to be done. I would need to cover that hole up for good.

  Twenty-eight

  I’ve missed more school—and more rehearsals—than I can bear to admit, but I’m determined not only to finish my class but to remain in the play. I’ve been reading lines before going to sleep every night—I’ve heard that the brain can memorize while you sleep—but I’m not sure how much is sinking in. Especially since I’m not sleeping well these days.

  Most of all, I’ve missed Lucy. At first, she understood when I told her I was having “family issues,” but after I missed yet another day of school and rehearsal, she left me a voice mail that included a long, dramatic sigh. I hope you know what you’re doing, Kat, she said. People aren’t going to be patient with you forever.

  I still haven’t had a chance to call her back.

  Today, Professor Lindquist is already talking when I enter the classroom, and I hope he doesn’t notice me as I slink over to my seat. I catch Lucy’s eye, and she raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Here in Lithia, we are surrounded by volcanoes,” Lindquist is saying. “From Mount Lassen in Northern California up to Crater Lake, Mount Hood, Mount Saint Helens, Mount Rainier, and so on. This chain of volcanoes is part of a giant circle known as the Ring of Fire.”

  For the rest of the class, Lindquist talks about volcanoes, eruptions, and how we are but the blink of an eye in the life span of this planet. He talks about trees, how they are the elders among us, the long-lived members of our communities, and how unaware most people are of their contributions to life on earth.

  The other students are surprisingly engaged today, asking questions and even joking with Lindquist. As for me, I lie low. I feel lost, which I am. I haven’t kept up with the reading, and I missed an exam last week, which I remembered only this morning when I finally looked at the syllabus. I still have hope that I can catch up, even though I spent most of last night reading my lines for the play.

  I sneak a peek at Lucy, who is staring straight ahead. I wish I could catch her eye again—I’d like to see a look from her that is less disapproving. But she doesn’t even glance in my direction, as if she’s purposely ignoring me.