The Ghost Runner

by Blair Richmond

  Then I see that Roman is staring over my shoulder, and I turn around.

  Alex is approaching the stage. I take a step forward, getting between them—I don’t want either of them to start a fight. “Please, guys,” I say, “not tonight.”

  “Don’t worry, Kat,” Alex says. “We’re done fighting.”

  “Really?” I turn to Roman, who nods.

  “Well,” I say. “I guess you’ve both matured.”

  “I suppose we have,” Roman says.

  Just then a shriek echoes up from downstairs, the sound of someone crying out something, though the words, from where we are, come through garbled, unclear.

  “Sounds like the cast party is well under way,” Alex says.

  I shake my head, rattled. “That didn’t sound like a happy scream to me.”

  Then Ben bursts onto the stage, followed by Lucy.

  “Oh, Kat, I’m glad you’re still here.” Lucy runs over to me and grabs my arm. “There’s not going to be a party tonight.”

  “Why? What happened?” I ask.

  “Virginia is dead.”

  “What?”

  “They just found her body. Up in the hills.”

  “Oh my God. The fires.”

  “No,” Lucy says. “It happened before the fires. They think it was a bear attack.”

  I feel a sharp pain in my stomach as I turn back to Alex and Roman. They both look as shocked as I feel. I can also tell that they both know, as I do, that it was not a bear attack.

  Then I see another figure in the theater, near the lobby doors. He is dressed in black, from head to toe, and he is a familiar figure, though I haven’t seen him in a long time.

  Victor.

  He is not applauding. He is not smiling. He is only staring at us. At me.

  The killing has begun again.

  Thirty-six

  I’m seated in Lindquist’s classroom, alone. Lindquist is at his table in the front of the room, grading my final exam.

  He attended the play last night and loved it. And while he refused to bend his rules to let me make up the midterm, he agreed to grade my final while I waited. He understands now how much I’ve been juggling, how anxious I am about passing this class.

  Finally he looks up from the test.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “Congratulations,” he says. “You passed. In fact, you achieved a nearly perfect score.”

  I push myself out of the chair and gather my things. “Thank you,” I say.

  He stands, too. “Combined with the other good work you’ve done in class, even with the failed midterm, your grade will probably fall into the low B range,” he says.

  I know this is a gift on Professor Lindquist’s part, and I’m grateful. “Thank you,” I say again. “I really did love this class.”

  “I could tell,” he says. “And I hope you continue in this line of study. You’re a natural fit.” He hands me my exam. “Best of luck to you, Kat. I hope to see you in the fall.”

  I head for the door, then stop and turn back. “Professor Lindquist, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “The fires. Could they be considered the work of Gaia?”

  “Could be.” He nods thoughtfully. “While it’s perfectly natural for lightning to start fires, the fact that we had lightning on a relatively clear night is not exactly natural. Perhaps nature saw a threat in all that development and fought back, reclaiming its land.” He looks at me. “Is that what you think?”

  “I know it sounds crazy to most people,” I say, “but I do think there are forces in nature that we don’t understand, that we’re not fully aware of yet. And I think they’re going to make themselves known in the years ahead.”

  He gives me a wink. “I suspect you could be right.”

  “This is such a strange town,” I say. “There is so much good and so much evil, all so close together.” I stop short of mentioning ghosts and vampires, but Lindquist, who’s nodding again, seems to understand.

  “Lithia isn’t really all that different than most towns, Kat. There is good and evil everywhere.”

  “But how do you destroy evil? Truly destroy it?”

  He shrugs. “Some say you fight fire with fire.”

  I leave the classroom, looking around the halls as I walk out to the leafy green of the campus. I know David won’t be thrilled with my grade, but when Roman transferred the bank account over to me the other day, I saw that there is enough money there not only to pay property taxes but to keep going to school part-time. I’m going to gather as many credits as I can until I can go back full-time and work toward a dual major. Environmental studies and drama.

  And as I walk across the quad I think of the gold—how it came from the earth and then helped me protect the earth. How it remained hidden until it was needed. And, as Roman and I have decided, how it will remain hidden once again, maybe forever.

  I see Roman across the quad, waiting for me. With Victor back, he has been keeping a close eye on me, and I’m glad. Not that I need an excuse to spend every possible moment with him. Neither of us wants to be apart, not anymore.

  I reach up to my throat to touch my mom’s necklace, the one my father gave me. I would never have this last piece of her if he hadn’t come back and given it to me. And now, it’s a reminder that I’ll always have a piece of them both forever.

  When I reach Roman, he smiles and extends an arm in that old-fashioned way of his. I take his arm, and he draws me closer. As we walk into town, I feel safe, as if nothing can harm us when we’re together. Yet at the same time, I’m all too aware of the hills above, of the good and evil lurking there, and I sense that, even on this lovely, late-summer day, we are being watched.

  About the Author

  Blair Richmond is the pen name of a writer who lives in the Pacific Northwest. The Ghost Runner is the second book in the Lithia Trilogy. Book one is Out of Breath. To learn more about Blair, visit http://blairrichmond.blogspot.com.

  Ashland Creek Press is an independent publisher of books with a world view. From travel narratives to eco-literature, our mission is to publish a range of books that foster an appreciation for worlds outside our own, for nature and the animal kingdom, and for the ways in which we all connect. To keep up-to-date on new and forthcoming books, subscribe to our free newsletter at www.AshlandCreekPress.com.