Ghost Maven

by Tony Lee Moral

  When the paramedics finally arrived, they checked me over brusquely and rushed me to Monterey Hospital for a checkup.

  Thirty minutes after I arrived, my dad rushed in with my kid sister, Sophie, in tow.

  “Alice, honey! My God! What happened? Are you OK? Does it hurt? Is it your head? You could have drowned, baby!” The torrent of questions poured out of him, his tone waivered alternately between concern and reproach.

  I smiled and tried to calm him. “I’m fine, Dad. Honest.” It was so good to see him. Out in the bay, there was a moment when I thought I might never see him alive again.

  My dad, Oliver Parker, was in his forties, handsome with graying hair at his temples and a sun-kissed tan. He was even more handsome when younger, and ever since he was a kid, the ocean fascinated him. I found that odd, since water scared the hell out of me. Unfortunately, Mom’s long illness took a toll on him and his kind, youthful features were replaced with worry lines, his dark hair flecked with gray. The burdens of bringing up two daughters on his own while juggling a full-time job and mourning the loss of his childhood sweetheart.

  Even in my disoriented state, all I could think of was the mysterious boy who pulled me out of that water. The memory of his touch, his luminous face and golden hair, and best of all—the underwater kiss, still so vivid and magical. I closed my eyes trying to picture him again, but the painful stiffness in my neck proved too much distraction.

  My little sister, Sophie, took after my mom with the same fair hair and blue eyes. Now, her face was solemn, and big tears ran down her pink cheeks. That surprised me; Sophie never cried. She was the toughest twelve-year-old I knew, even though she suffered from asthma. At Mom’s funeral, while Dad and I wept, Sophie stoically held it together with a quiet strength. When Mom’s coffin passed by within inches of me, Sophie squeezed my fingers tight. I can still remember that touch passing her strength on to me. Now, as she sat next to my hospital bed, I felt that same power. It was somewhat silly considering I am the older sister, the one supposed to be more responsible.

  “Are you really OK?” Sophie asked, tears streaming. “I mean–really okay?”

  I nodded.

  She nodded and sniffled, then became angry. “Who falls into Monterey Bay anyway? That was a dumb thing to do.” Then her voice softened. “Did you swallow a lotta water?”

  “I think I spat half of it out, but I never wanna eat sushi again.” I tried to make light of it, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. They knew how close I came to drowning.

  A short time later my memory returned and with it, all the emotions. I hated being in the hospital because it reminded me of our endless visits to see Mom. It is so difficult to go through the pain again. The memory of her looking so pale and fragile in that thin nightgown, propped up in bed. She always did her best to mask her own fear, and comfort Sophie and me with her smiles and kisses, but I knew how scared and sad she was. It was also tough watching Dad. I could tell from his eyes it was tearing him apart.

  The doctor came in to take my pulse. He murmured soothing words and smiled at me in a genial fashion. As he spoke, I remembered that guy again, my unknown savior.

  “Where is he?” I asked, looking around at the anxious faces of my family.

  Dad asked, “Who, honey?”

  “There was this boy in the bay. He rescued me.”

  Dad frowned and looked at the doctor and said, “I know nothing about a boy. The school brought you in.”

  “But there was a boy. He saved me from drowning.”

  “Hey, just try to rest. You took quite a bump on the noggin,” the doctor said, gently pushing me back down on the pillow.

  Dad exchanged quick, worried glances with him and I recognized that look on his face, the same expression he’d worn when I fell off a horse back home and when he suggested that we move to California, and during Sophie’s sudden asthma attack when six-years-old. The look of a dad who is terrified, knowing he has no control.

  “She took it really hard when her mom died,” my dad said in a hushed tone to the doctor beside my bed. “She was seeing a psychiatrist in Chicago until we moved here.”

  “Well, I can recommend a dozen good psychiatrists here in the bay.”

  Great, I thought as my dad nodded and thanked the doctor. Just what I need, another freaking shrink. And that was my last thought before drifting off to sleep.

  By the time I woke up, it was dark and cold outside, I could see the condensation freezing on the glass. Dad and Sophie were gone because the doctor asked them to leave so I could get some rest.

  Looking around the empty, quiet room, I noticed the window offered a view of the sea. I crept out of bed to have a look. Feeling a bit chilly in the backless hospital gown, I watched as the sea changed from blue to a deep crimson to black. The pale moon crept up above the horizon and I could feel the lure of the tides.

  Just after lunch the following day, Dad checked me out of the hospital. I was silent as he drove me home, along Route 68, until we hit David Avenue leading straight to the Monterey Aquarium. Turning left took us to the coastal road.

  I turned my head to look out at the bay, watching the sunlight dance with malevolence on the water. The events of the past day seemed like a hazy memory, and the bright light of Pacific Grove bathed everything in a deceptively warm hue. All seemed okay in the sterile light of day.

  A small headland called Lovers Point jutted out into the bay, a signal we had arrived at Pacific Grove. Dad steered onto Forest Avenue, drove a couple blocks and stopped in front of house number 136, the large, white and blue Victorian clapboard we were renting.

  “Okay?” he said, turning off the engine.

  I nodded, and we went inside.

  Over the weekend, I thought of little else except what happened in the bay. The memory of the boy who saved me haunted my thoughts. Who was he? Where did he come from? What was he doing out at sea in all that horrible fog? What about the mysterious island? Did I imagine it, or was it really there? I couldn’t rest until I knew the answers. Slowly, I closed the shutters to my bedroom window and tried to get some sleep, hoping to block all of it—boy included—out of my mind.

  On Monday, Dad went to work and dropped Sophie off at school leaving me alone in the empty house with only my homework to keep me company. I brought my book collection with me from Chicago and in the middle of stacking them on my bedroom shelf, I heard a knock at the front door.

  When I swung the big oak door open, I wasn’t prepared for the sight before me. An old woman stood on the front porch just inches from the door. She must have been at least eighty-years-old with leathery skin and a skull-like head shrunken on a slender neck. Her dark eyes glistened in sunken sockets as she stared at me so intently, I froze for a second.

  “Hello,” the elderly visitor said. “I’m Mrs. Prescott from across the street. I just came to welcome you to Pacific Grove.” Her singsong voice full of nostalgia.

  Wow. A welcome wagon? People still do that here? In Chicago, folks barely knew anyone’s names.

  “Thanks. That’s real nice of you. I’m Alice,” I said extending a hand.

  The old woman shook my hand, wrapping her gnarled, knotted fingers around it. Her skin was like ice, and I was glad to withdraw from her clammy touch. “Alice? A lovely name for a very lovely young woman.”

  “Thank you,” I said again. My mother had named me after her grandmother, named after that much more famous Alice, the one who’d traipsed around Wonderland. I found that a bit ironic since I often wanted to disappear down a rabbit hole.

  “Is your mom home?”

  “No. She’s gone. She’s dead,” I replied flatly. I could say it easier now, without flinching or embarrassment or the need to elicit sympathy. People told me it would get easier and easier, and I guess they were right.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. You poor dear.” The old woman offered an outstretched hand to comfort me, but instead grasped the empty air. I didn’t want to touch her again.

  Mrs. Prescott’s
steel-gray eyes flickered from me, over my shoulder, and back again. Her gaze narrowed, penetrating my very soul. “I didn’t come only to welcome you,” she said. Her tone changed, becoming ominous as she spoke in a low, strangled voice, “I must tell you something very important.” She looked directly into my eyes, her words stern, “Stay away from the water.”

  Chapter Three: The Dance

  Monterey High School sat in the center of town, about a ten-minute drive from my house. Going back to school after what happened was tough. I felt the other kids staring at me, and one of the senior jocks whistled, I wasn’t just the new girl, I was now the strange new girl who had fallen into the bay and almost drowned. I couldn’t have brought more attention to myself if I had walked around with a neon KICK ME sign on my back.

  Before homeroom, I stopped by my locker, and a figure came rushing up to me and before I knew it, Emily had me in a tight hug. Then holding my shoulders at arm’s length, she studied me for a moment, making me feel uneasy. She looked me straight in the eye and said in a hushed voice that for my ears only, “It’s good to get away sometimes—to make a fresh start. It’s good to leave the pain behind.”

  I glanced at her sideways, leave the pain behind? What in the world does she mean by that? Emily knowing more about me than I revealed bothered me. As though she could somehow experience what I felt at that moment. As a very private person, I found it unnerving.

  I shoved my books into the locker, slammed the door shut, and turned the key firmly. “Leave what behind?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “I’m good.”

  Emily nodded knowingly, her gaze unwavering, “Okay Alice,” she said, unbelieving. Then she changed the subject.

  “Hey, guess what. Lance is having a party!”

  “He is? When?”

  “Next Friday, and we’re both invited.”

  I shook my head. “I dunno. I’m not really in the partying mood. My head still hurts.”

  “Oh, c’mon! It’ll be loads of fun. Besides, what better way to make new friends?”

  “Okay. Well, we’ll see,” I said, sensing Emily’s disappointment. But—I really didn’t want to go, and wasn’t about to make any commitments.

  The rest of the week went by painfully slow, and it was a relief when Friday came. I saw high school parties as something of a chore. Dressing up, guys trying to impress girls, girls looking unimpressed. It was all such an amusing, phony ritual. I wondered why evolved human beings put themselves through it. I would much rather have sat with friends over coffee, talking about the latest book or movie. That might have made me sound a bit dull, but it was how I felt.

  Nevertheless, I made an effort to go because I knew Emily wanted me to. I put on a nice white dress and my mom’s silver necklace, which was one of the few things of hers that I wore. Staring back at my reflection was always something of an internal battle. I wasn’t fat, but like most girls, I wished I could be taller and slimmer, so I could carry off a dress like my friend Elisabeth from Chicago. She was effortlessly chic, and I missed her wit and style.

  I stood awkwardly at the door while Dad read The Monterey News in the front room.

  “Wow! You look fancy!” he said when he finally took notice. “What kind of party are you going to again?”

  “A guy from my class is having a birthday. Emily invited me, and I don’t wanna disappoint her.”

  Dad nodded—much to my surprise. I assumed he would disapprove; but since it was the first party I’d shown any interest in since Mom’s illness, he seemed relieved instead. “Have fun. Do you want me to pick you up?”

  I shook my head. “No. Emily and I will catch a cab. I won’t be late.”

  The party was on a boat anchored off Pier 39 in the marina. Emily was waiting patiently by the plaza, near a dolphin-shaped fountain. She was wearing a dark purple dress and funky-looking costume jewelry. She had an odd fashion sense that included a mishmash of styles, refusing to follow any particular trend.

  “Great dress!” my friend squealed when she saw me. As usual, she immediately pulled me into a hug.

  “You think so?” I noticed her large silver talisman with a yin yang symbol on it. “I like that. What does it mean?”

  “This? It’s my lucky talisman,” said Emily. “It makes me feel balanced, so I don’t get seasick!”

  I laughed. “I think we should be more worried about the seniors than waves or sharks,” I joked, smoothing my dress. “I don’t know who I’m trying to impress.”

  “Then why don’t you just impress yourself?” said Emily, linking her arm in mine and steering us toward the pier.

  When we climbed on board, I tried to steady myself on the deck, which wasn’t easy on a boat packed full of teenagers. Hip-hop music drifted from the stereo across the bay. We were only about a hundred feet from shore, but it seemed like we were several miles out to sea. I watched with envy as the beautiful girls danced with ‘jocks’ whose muscles were hardened by hours of kayaking in the bay.

  “Alice!”

  I turned around and saw Christian coming toward me, accompanied by another boy. Christian had a huge smile on his face, as he looked me up and down. I wondered if he was ever in a bad mood.

  “Wow. You look terrific.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, sheepishly. I certainly didn’t feel terrific.

  I turned to look at the other boy standing next to him with cropped, black hair and wire-framed glasses. The brown eyes behind those glasses stared at me without blinking. He looked sickly—pale. No warmth or friendliness radiated from him, and he made no effort to smile or even pretend to be curious like the others.

  I held out my hand, waiting for the cold stranger to introduce himself, but he acted like a handshake was some alien gesture—embarrassed, I withdrew my hand.

  “And this is Ethan,” Christian said, sounding apologetic.

  “Nice to meet you, Ethan,” I said politely.

  The boy nodded at me and uttered one word, “Likewise.”

  “Ethan’s a member of that book club I was telling you about,” Christian continued.

  “Ah, okay.” I nodded. “I may take you up on your offer to join. I love books.”

  “You do?” asked Ethan, still not blinking.

  “Er…sure. I read a lot.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “I would have to say Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.” It was true. I had read it at least ten times.

  “Good choice,” said Christian.

  “And what’s yours?” I asked Ethan.

  “Atlas Shrugged,” came the reply.

  Christian asked me to dance, but I declined politely and opted for watching the other kids from the sidelines instead. I took a sip of punch, hoping it would relax me when I glimpsed one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. Tall with straight blonde hair, a flawless complexion, and perfect facial features. She held her head high upon a slender neck and wore a pink cardigan wrapped around slender shoulders. I couldn’t help but stare as she walked gracefully past as though gliding on casters.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Emily, who was standing next to me.

  “Heather Palmer,” she whispered in my ear.

  “She’s beautiful,” I said.

  Emily shot Heather a rather mean look and shrugged. “She certainly seems to think so.”

  So, it seemed, did every boy on the boat because they were all looking at her like dogs gawking at a T-bone. Next to her stood a tall, handsome guy with a solid build. He started kissing the base of Heather’s neck and she didn’t resist. Instead, she laughed playfully as he slipped his hands around her waist.

  I watched the couple together, my mouth agape. “Who’s she with?”

  “That’s Channing, her boyfriend,” Emily whispered again. “The high school jock, in case you couldn’t tell.”

  Channing rested his hands on Heather’s neck. I studied the hands for a moment; they were big and powerful from throwing so many footballs and scoring touchdowns.

  “They’
re stunning together,” I said with a sigh, wondering if I’d ever look that good with a guy. I also wondered if anyone would ever look at me the way Channing was looking at Heather. My boyfriend’s back in Chicago had been bookish or music types, quirky individuals. They were not drop-dead handsome, and they definitely were not high school jocks. In fact, I had met my last boyfriend at the local chess club. It lasted a few months, but then he seemed to run out of moves, and we reached a proverbial stalemate.

  The girl turned her head to face me as if sensing my gaze. Our eyes met for a few seconds and something registered between us, a kind of female solidarity. Heather smiled at me while enjoying Channing’s kisses. I blushed, feeling myself going bright red for being caught staring.

  All around me kids were dancing, flirting, and laughing with the ease of familiarity. Emily chatted with kayakers, Christian and Ruth, the athletic girl kayaking with us the day I almost drowned. I started to feel unsteady, wishing I wore Emily’s lucky talisman. Everything seemed to just swirl around me, and I knew I had to get off the boat. I made a move toward the ramp.

  “Where are you going?” Emily called. “Are you okay?”

  “I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be back.”

  I walked along the docks, breathing in the cool night air. The place was dimly lit by the glistening moonlight. As I made my way along the squeaky boardwalk, the gentle lapping of the water ebbed and flowed around the stilt legs.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something in the air. It flew toward me, its movements fluttery and jerky. The iridescent wings of what looked like a giant moth seemed to catch the moonlight. I watched in awe as it danced in the rays of light, circling around my head, then headed toward the end of the dock.

  The pull was irresistible; it was urging me to follow. As I reached the edge of the dock, I saw protruding rocks, and behind them was a huge expanse of ocean. The moth finally settled on one of the rocks, its wings coming to rest. I longed to hold it in my hand, to feel its delicate vibrations on my skin, but it remained just out of reach.