“Come on,” I whispered, “tell me, what’s up?”
Evan’s face twisted in concentration. “I’m just worried about you going to the shelter…but if your mom thinks it’s okay, then who am I to argue?
“Why are you worried about that?” I asked, completely confused.
Again, he shrugged. “I just am. I mean, there are really dangerous people involved with all that.” He paused. “Jane, these women have been abused. What if their abuser finds them? What if you’re there when it happens?”
“Evan, I think you’re overreacting a little. It’s just one day, paint and Play-Doh for the kids.” I smiled in an attempt to lighten his dark mood. “I doubt we’ll even see any adults, and the location is generally kept a secret. Ava says from the outside you can’t even tell it’s a shelter. It’s some kind of warehouse or something.”
He didn’t look appeased, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I changed the subject. “Do you think my Aunt Jeannie saw you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have a moment of connection like I have with you, where I knew you could see me and I could see you, but she did seem aware.”
I crammed my hands deeper into my pockets. “She told me all this crazy stuff about how she used to read palms and auras. It was a little disturbing.”
“I heard. Why did it bother you?”
“She was just really on target with some things. And I have this situation, where I can see you. Who knows, maybe it’s some kind of family thing.”
Evan nudged me with his elbow to keep walking and after a couple feet another car flew by causing a gush of water to splash off the wheels. This time I yelled, “Jackass!” over the pouring rain. To my astonishment, the small blue car came to an abrupt stop and shifted into reverse. Horrified, I focused my eyes ahead and picked up my pace. Great, piss off a crazy driver, Jane.
After a couple of feet, Evan tugged on the back of my coat. I realized the car was next to me and when I stopped, it also stopped. The driver rolled down the window.
I should have been surprised when I realized that Connor was the driver, but I wasn’t. I also—sadly—wasn’t surprised that my heart started beating erratically when I saw his blue eyes peering out the window.
“Of course,” I said. Loud music and warm air burst from the car. “Only you would be a big enough jerk to spray me with water.”
I expected a snarky comeback, or even a lame apology, but instead his eyes shifted between me and Evan. “Jane, I need you to get in the car.”
Laughter bubbled from my chest. “No. Freaking. Way. That is not going to happen.” The intensity of his eyes terrified me. He wasn’t angry, more like pleading.
“Jane, go. It’s important,” Evan said.
I turned and looked at him—something I never did in public—but it was too late. Either Connor could see him, or he was as bat-shit crazy as I was and it didn’t really matter. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
He shook his head, the blonde locks shifting as he did so. “Come on, Jane. For me?” He grabbed my arm. “I need you to do this.” I didn’t know what to do. One minute Evan was telling me not to volunteer due to the danger of the situation and the next he was practically forcing me into the car of a known delinquent.
I was literally caught between the two of them: Evan, my best friend, on the sidewalk, and Connor, the beautiful, scary, intense boy I didn’t know or understand, waiting in his car. For a brief moment I considered running and ignoring the pleas of both of them, but instead I turned my back on Connor and looked Evan in the eye and said, “Why? Why is this so important?”
He held my gaze and said, “Trust me. Please?”
I sighed. “Fine, but you owe me an explanation when I get home.” I would have felt better if he would’ve said something, but his expression remained serious. Facing Connor and his small, crappy blue car, I said, “That is, if I make it home,” as I stepped off the curb, into a deep puddle.
“Later,” was his reply and he was gone, leaving me to fend for myself. Annoyed, I moved around to the car and wrenched open the heavy, creaky door and dropped into the seat. As I removed my hood and strapped on my seat belt, Connor’s fingers reduced the volume on the stereo. He shifted into gear and the car let out a loud sputtering noise. Now I knew why he played his music so loud.
His eyes flicked to the mess of CDs and books littering the floor and center console. “Sorry about the mess and the car; it’s crappy.” He shifted his gaze forward again. When I didn’t respond, he spoke again, “This car was my dad’s. He saved it from when he was in high school to give to me. I suspect it was a piece of junk then, too.”
For some reason this struck me as funny; this guy, totally hot and dangerous, basically forced me into his car, and now he’s apologizing for how junky it is. Plus, the irony of his sentimental, thrifty father sounded very familiar. Damn it, I didn’t want things in common with him. Now I sat in Connor-the-fire-starter’s car, laughing uncontrollably because we had things in common. Like cars, and counseling, and seeing ghosts.
“What?” he asked, a smile twitching at his lip.
I wiped my eyes and exhaled. “Nothing. What do you want? I knew you had a record, but kidnapping?”
His eyes narrowed so tight I couldn’t see the blue. “You don’t know anything about me, Jane.” His voice was harsh and a little hurt.
I twisted in my seat and face him. “Then why don’t you tell me something that I don’t hear whispered around the hallways at school?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “What do you want to know?”
What did I want to know? Who are you? Why are you bothering me? Can you really see my ghost? Did you go to jail? Are you a pyromaniac? Why do you make my stomach twist in knots just thinking about you?
Rubbing my gloved hands over the top of my legs I decided to throw caution to the wind. “Can you really see him?”
Connor’s hand reached to the lever between us and he down shifted as we rounded a curve. With fascination I watched the muscles of his arm clench under the fabric of his shirt. His movements were quick and fluid—easy. “Yeah, I can see him.”
Our dual admission hung in the air and I longed to turn the music back up so there was something between us other than the noisy hum of the car and our breathing. I should have felt scared or weird or possibly exposed but I didn’t, not completely. For the first time in months, I wasn’t alone.
“Is he the only one you see?” I asked, breaking the odd, yet comfortable tension.
He glanced away from the windshield, looking me in the eye. “Now? Yes. But there have been others.”
My stomach dropped. “Others?” I whispered. I didn’t want others. He nodded, his eyes back on the road and he turned into a large parking lot, getting off the road. “What are you doing?”
Connor eased the car into a space, away from any other cars and put it in park, leaving the engine and heat running. “I just need to talk to you. Just for a minute. If you never want to speak to me again, that’s fine and I promise to leave you alone. But we need to discuss this.”
I swallowed. He was right. There were things I needed to understand and I was getting the feeling he needed to as well. “Okay. Talk to me.”
Both of his hands were still on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight his knuckles were white. His eyes were down, staring at his hands, and I studied his profile. His jaw was sharp, and his cheekbones high and prominent. My fingers itched to sketch him. “Nine months ago I tore my house apart and tried to burn it to the ground.”
Wow. I was one second from bolting from the car, but I decided to just listen, to hear him out, so I waited, terrified of what he would say next.
“I just wanted to make them go away.” His voice was so tight, so tense, as though he fought to get the words out.
“Who? Who did you want to go away?”
He turned his head, away, looking out the driver’s window. “Them. The ghosts or spirits�
��whatever you want to call them. They wouldn’t leave me alone. It was constant and harassing and I thought I was losing my mind.”
I understood this, some of it. I, too, had thought I’d lost my mind, and Evan’s presence was constant, but it also calmed me –he was my friend. He tried his best from the beginning to respect my space. “How many were there?” I asked, confused by the use of the term ‘they.’
“One at first, then the others came. It’s like they seek me out. They know I can see them and they come to find me.”
My jaw dropped in horror. “They seek you out? What do they want?”
He twisted toward me. “Different things. To pass on messages, to help them find something or someone. To just have someone to talk to. To scare the crap out of me. I don’t know, it’s always different.”
I stared at the boy next to me. He no longer seemed intimidating, although what he said scared me. Instead, he appeared lost, and it was all I could do not to reach out and comfort him. I kept my hands in my lap, though, and said, “That’s horrible.”
“What does yours want?”
“Mine?” I asked. He lifted an eyebrow in question. “Oh, Evan? He doesn’t want anything. He’s just kind of my friend. He helped me out when I first moved and…”
Connor didn’t seem to notice I’d trailed off. “What do you mean he’s your friend?”
I shrugged. “He just is—I’m not explaining it to you.”
“They all want something, Jane. It’s why they’re here.”
I shook my head in denial. Evan was my friend, he was my ‘spirit guide.’ I refused to believe he was using me.
Connor’s long, cold fingers wrapped around my arm. “These ghosts…they’re stuck. They’re stuck in our world because they aren’t finished with something from their days of living. They need to move on, but they can’t. So they roam around until they find some unsuspecting fool like me,” and he scowled, “or you, to help them find their way. Your ghost, Evan, needs something. The sooner he finds it, the sooner he goes away.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” So confident and sure, cocky even. I hated him.
I realized Connor still had his hand on my arm and I yanked it away. “Please take me home,” I said, barely audible, but he heard me and his hand shifted the car in gear. I fought to keep the tears back. Evan was not using me. He volunteered. He showed up in my room and he made me laugh when I wanted to cry and he talked to me about music and art and books. He called the mean girls names and made fun of their clothes and hair.
He wasn’t stuck and I didn’t want him to go away.
Faster than I thought possible, we were in front of my house. I had no idea how he knew where I lived and I didn’t want to know. I’d been right. Connor was a jerk. Maybe he wasn’t making fun of me, but he didn’t know everything. I fumbled with the door and his long arm stretched over my body to the lever, but he didn’t open it, instead he trapped me with his arm. His face was close, and when he spoke I felt his breath on my cheek. “This isn’t over.”
He released the lock and I stumbled getting out of the car into the pouring rain. I flung my bag over my shoulder and flipped my hood up as I ran around the back of the car and up the front steps of my house to safety. I heard his engine flare as he pulled away from the curb, but I never looked back.
I AVOIDED MY ROOM and quiet corners all afternoon and evening. My mother and I prepared dinner together. It was one of those simple things that made her happy. My father and I watched a program about Hitler on the History Channel, and I feigned interest as I watched armies of men raise an arm in honor of a madman. Dad loved the phenomenon of mass behavior and how one man could convince millions that his bizarre attitudes were right. When it was over he patted my head, grabbed the latest edition of This Old House and went to bed. It was nice. And normal. Completely and utterly normal. And a mockery of what was really going on in my life.
Evan was around. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. My rain-soaked afternoon encounter with Connor left me raw and suspicious. Part of me knew Connor wasn’t lying. Why would he? The other part was terrified of the possible truths he told.
“Jane, you should head to bed,” my mother called from the living room, where she was immersed in a book.
“I know, I am,” I said, as I wandered around the kitchen searching for anything to delay going upstairs.
I passed by the living room archway. “Are you okay?” she asked, lowering her book and studying me closely.
Instinctively, I plastered a smile on my face. “I’m fine. Maybe a little tired. Exams are next week, you know.”
Mom swung her legs up and gestured to the end of the couch. “Come sit with me?”
Grateful for the distraction, I moved to join her. Once I settled in the cushions she asked again, “Are you sure everything’s okay? School? Friends?” I shrugged at her suggestions but shook my head, until she probed further. “A boy?” I sucked my breath in a little. The corner of her eyes crinkled. “Tell me about him.”
Pushing my back into the cushion, I wondered how I could even explain Connor or my not-relationship with him. “It’s not like that, I promise.”
“Like what?” she asked, her voice sounding sincere.
“It’s just...there is a boy at school. He’s in some of my classes and we’ve spoken a couple of times. But I don’t think he likes me...in fact, I’m more than sure he doesn’t.” I rambled around the truth.
“I’m not sure what any of that means, sweetie.”
I snorted. “I know. I’m not sure, either. It’s just stupid teenager stuff. Ignore me, please!”
“Oh, honey, it’s not stupid. But boys can be hard to read, for sure. They act tough, but usually they’re scared out of their minds when it comes to the opposite sex.”
I wish I could say I didn’t blush when my mom casually said the word ‘sex,’ but I did. A warm blush spread cross my cheeks and up my ears. Out of discomfort I said, “Connor is definitely hard to read.”
“Connor?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, his name is Connor.”
“Is he cute?”
As if it was that easy. Connor was definitely cute, better than cute, gorgeous even. Especially after days like today when I was mere inches from his face, his beauty was undeniable. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
Attempting to stifle a yawn, I covered my mouth with my hand and my mother eyed me warily.
“Okay, honey, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“Okay.” I gave her a quick hug.
“See you in the morning.” I stretched and adjusted my shirt. Little things that took up seconds of time. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you—Aunt Jeannie told me about her escape from small town life and to the big cities of California.”
Mom looked unsurprised and chuckled. “I missed her when she left, but she was destined for bigger things. She was always fearless. It was one of the things I envied about her.”
“Mom! You’re so brave! Quitting your job and opening the shop, moving here. I mean I didn’t want to move but you’ve put yourself out there. Starting the gallery. It’s a big deal.” As I spoke, the smile on her face grew wider. She may have even blushed. “I’m proud of you.”
“Maybe,” she said, pulling on her earring. “But it’s a different kind of bravery. She left on her own with nothing but her suitcase and a wad of cash.”
“She told me how she read palms and stuff to make money out there.”
Again my mother laughed. “Did she practice her voodoo on you?”
I bristled at her comment, feeling it was too close to home. “Yeah, she did.” I stood over my mother, hovering, trying to muster the courage to ask what was on my mind. “Um, mom, what happened to Aunt Jeannie’s mother?”
Her shoulders tensed against the couch cushions and her disposition changed. “I think it’s getting late, and it’s time for you to head up.”
Her words sounded like a reprima
nd. Why was this topic off limits? “Yeah, okay,” I said, uncomfortable with the shift of emotion in the room.
“Night.”
I walked upstairs and hesitated outside my bedroom door. Evan and I had a lot to talk about, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready. I had the feeling things were about to change, and I’d just gotten used to life as it was. After a couple more minutes of procrastinating I mustered up courage and opened the door. He was waiting.
“Hey,” I said, determined to meet this head-on.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” Okay, I guess he planned to meet this head-on as well.
I dropped on the bed and lay on my back, my eyes on the painted wooden slats of my ceiling. “You’re right. I was avoiding you.”
“Why, what happened?”
I spread my arms to the side, letting my fingers grip the edges of the mattress. I needed something to hold onto. “Connor and I talked like you wanted us to. He told me about his past and how he sees ghosts, also. Not just one, but several. And they aren’t like you. They sound harsh and scary.”
Exhausted, I crawled to the top of my bed and turned off the lamp on the bedside table before curling up on my pillow. I wished he would argue and tell me Connor was crazy and to stay away, but his silence was deafening. Tears burned my eyes.
“He says you need something from me. That you’re stuck and you can’t leave until I help you.” I wiped my nose on the quilt lying underneath me. “But, you’ve been here for months and you told me you were here to help me. Not the other way around, and now this guy—this jacked-up, crazy, house-burning guy—tells me he sees ghosts, too, and that everything I thought about me and you was wrong and I just don’t know what to do.”
I cried harder now, all the anger and frustration pouring out into the dark room. It was quiet, so quiet, that I thought maybe Evan had left—that he had fled to whatever other place it was he went to—but once I calmed down, I heard him. His voice was close and he stroked my hair.
“I don’t know what to do either,” he whispered, causing my heart to clench, because the sincerity was clear in the darkness and if he didn’t know what to do, then we were both lost.
Wraith Page 5