by Amy Sparling
"Really?" I say, "But the murder weapon is in here, this room is incredible!" He shakes his head. "Can't you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"Exactly. There are no bad vibes in here. Mrs. Graves doesn't hang around in this room, and I can't blame her."
"She must not be a big reader," I say, trying to lighten things again. It doesn't work. Raine walks back into the hallway. "Let's go to the bedroom so you can piss her off. Maybe we'll see something now that you believe."
I stomp out of the room to catch up with him. "I don't appreciate you saying I'll piss her off. I thought that's what we were supposed to do, we had to provoke her."
Raine stops midway up the stairs. I slam into his back. "I am a sensible guy," he says, taking my hand as we walk up the rest of the stairs. "I don't try to force my beliefs on anyone. But you are the first person I've met who has been so rooted in non belief. Most people are skeptics."
"Skeptical people are morons," I say, but it has no emotion behind it. Now I'm simply denying for the sake of denying something that I'm already starting to believe.
"I think skeptics are smart. People who believe anything are too naive, but people who want to believe but are skeptic-," We reach the top of the stairs and he pushes me to walk in front of him. "People who are skeptic know there is something more out there but they need proof."
"And what are you?" I ask, reaching the door at the end of the hallway. I look at Mrs. Grave's portrait on the wall. She's smiling exactly the same as last time. As if it would somehow be different today. I shudder.
"I'm someone with proof."
A rush of cool air hits me when I open the door to Mrs. Grave's room. We left the French balcony doors open last time, and now the wind has messed up most of the room. Papers are overturned, the curtains are ripped off their rods, and the perfume bottles on the vanity are on the floor. A painting that was on the wall now rests on the floor, its frame broken into four pieces.
"Shit," Raine says. "I thought we closed this last time." He rushes to the doors and slams them shut. I take a deep breath as I look around the room. When I exhale, warm tears fill my eyes. What was a beautiful piece of untouched history last time is now a wind-blown mess. There are even leaves from pine trees in here. My chest swells with pain. I am totally responsible for this. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
Raine crosses the room to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault." I let my head fall on his chest while I concentrate on breathing so I don't erupt into tears again. What the hell is wrong with me lately? "I'm not sorry to you," I say, pulling away from him. "I'm sorry to Mrs. Graves. We shouldn't have come here because now her things are ruined.
"She's dead," Raine says. "And I'm pretty sure she's crossed over because she hasn't made herself present here at all."
"We only tried once."
"Once is usually all it takes." He bends down and retrieves a hairbrush and a comb with ivory handles. He sets them back on the vanity where they were the first time we saw them. "Let's clean it up," he says. "It'll make you feel better."
We start with the trash and leaves on the floor, and sweep them with our hands off the balcony. The wind isn't bad tonight, so we leave one of the doors open. We set all of the perfume bottles back on the vanity, some of them still fit perfectly into clean shapes where the dust hasn't settled over the years. Raine and I piece the picture frame back together and hang it back up on the wall. It won't stay straight, but even with a tilt, it makes the room look back to normal.
When the room is clean again, I realize we never went near the bed. There could still be trash under there, but it's a part of the room we choose to ignore. "You know," I say, grabbing my flashlight off an end table and walking toward the bed. "The bed isn't that bad."
I shine my beam of light, which is way bigger than Raine's crappy flashlight, on top of the bed where the mattress was. A hundred years of blood left to rot has pretty much disintegrated everything in its path. The linens are rotted through; the mattress is so threadbare I can see the entire wire frame underneath. I'm sure it used to be a gruesome scene, but now it's not even recognizable.
"And it doesn't smell or anything," Raine adds. I lean against the tall bedpost. "Can you imagine being stabbed to death?"
"No," he says.
"If you saw it coming, that would be one thing, but she was stabbed in her sleep." I clear my throat but it sounds like more of a gag. "I guess you'd wake up after the first stab."
"They say he stabbed her like fourteen times," he says making a stabbing motion with his fist.
"That's horrible." My fingers feel clammy on the bed post. "I hope she didn't feel a lot of pain." Raine takes a step closer to me, and in the same instant, I hear something. Something that sounds like, "Yes."
"Did you say something?" I look at Raine. He's looking at me with a deer in the headlights look. "No."
"Did you hear that?"
He nods. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Did it sound like?" I ask, trying to say the word but not able to force it out. He nods again. I take slow breaths and try not to make a single sound for the next minute. Raine says, "Did you suffer a lot when you died?"
The sound comes again. It's like white noise on a television, only I could swear it says the word yes. A cold chill runs through my body. My feet feel paralyzed to the floor. Raine reaches into his pack jeans pocket for his notebook. I give him this look like, what the hell are you doing?
"Are you Mrs. Graves?" he asks, flipping open his notebook. He takes a pen out of his jacket pocket and writes on a new page. Still paralyzed, all I can do is listen for a reply.
"Mrs. Graves?" he asks again. "It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you."
Nothing happens. The house is so quiet; I can hear the ocean crashing onto the shore outside the window. It's the first time I remember hearing it from in this room.
"Will you show us that you are here?" Again nothing happens. My feet loosen and I'm able to take a step back. I shake myself, loosening all the muscles that were so tight a moment ago. My heart slows back to normal. "That must have been something else." I smile, hoping Raine will agree with me.
"I think she's shy," he says.
"She didn't show herself, Raine. It was nothing but a random noise." I walk over to him and grab his elbow. "I want to go home."
"But we finally made contact with her!" He twists out of my grip and goes to the vanity. "These are your things," he says, taking out the jewelry and holding it in the air. "Show yourself again." When nothing happens, Raine begs, "Please."
I bite my lip to hold off from telling him I told him so. "Let's just go home."
He drops the jewelry back in the drawer and closes it. "Fine."
Chapter 27
My eyes fling open to the sound of someone beating on the door. I panic, frozen under the sheets until I realize that if someone wanted to murder me, they wouldn’t knock on the door like a friendly neighbor. They'd just break in and put a gun to my head. I get out of the couch-turned-bed, thankful that I'm wearing a new set of pajamas I bought on a shopping trip with Anna instead of my usual oversized T-shirt. I peek through a sliver in the blinds.
Psychotic murderers probably wear black leather jackets, but this isn't one of them. I pull up the blinds. "What are you doing?" I yell through the window. Raine holds up a small box with a cell phone on the cover. "I got you something."
I snap the blinds closed and sprint through the living room, kicking Mom's dirty clothes into her room and trying to make things look presentable before I get to the front door. Using the hair tie on my wrist, I pull my hair back into a pony tail, then open the front door.
Raine greets me with a big smile, a box under his arm and a bag from the bagel kiosk. "Good morning." He holds up the bag. I take it, bring it close to my chest. My mouth waters at the smell of the warm poppy seed bagel inside. "You are amazing," I say.
"I know. Can I come in?"
I lead him to my corner of the li
ving room. It's the only tidy place in the apartment and it's almost free from that stale cigarette smell because I keep a scented wax melter on both sides of the couch. Raine and I sit and he puts the cell phone box in my lap. "What is this?"
"It's a cell phone."
"I know what it is, but why are you giving this to me?" I dunk my bagel into the container of cream cheese.
"Because you need it. If you had that last night then I would have called you at three in the morning to go on a ghost hunt with me." He spreads cream cheese over his bagel slices then sandwiches it together like an Oreo. "Instead, I had to go alone."
"What! Where did you go? Why didn't you just come get me?"
"I thought about it, but you were sleeping and all." He takes a bite of his bagel. "That old house on Eighteenth Street, where the guy killed his kids and then himself in the sixties. It was awesome. I'm pretty sure I saw the shape of an entire body walk across the room."
"I thought you weren't allowed it that house?"
"I wasn’t when that cardiologist owned it. But he just got divorced and his wife got to keep the house. She called me up and said I could investigate it." He shudders. "I think she has this cougar-like crush on me."
"You're shitting me." I punch a pillow. "I'm supposed to be your partner, Raine. I can't believe you went there without me!"
He smiles. "I'm sorry, Tay. But I got you this to make up for it. Now I can call you whenever I need to."
I take out the phone and flip it over in my hands. "I can't accept this, you know. These things are expensive."
"It was free with a new contract. And it's only five dollars a month to add you to my plan, so shut up and take it."
I turn it on and watch an animated image dance across the screen as the phone powers up. I can't help but giggle. "I must be the last teenager on the planet to get a cell phone." Raine rips out a piece of paper from his tiny notebook and writes his phone number on it. "Here, I'll call you later and we can meet up before the tour tonight. I have permission to take everyone to that house so we need to reroute a few stops."
"Okay," I say, not listening to a word he's saying because I have a piece of technology in my hand that I've wanted for so very long. Raine leaves and I wait until I hear his car start up and drive away to do a happy dance in my room.
A few minutes later, my phone beeps. I have one new message, from Raine obviously. Nice pajamas.
As dorky as it is, I do another happy dance. Raine is the coolest guy ever and possibly the hottest guy to wear such a stupid wardrobe. Ghost touring is the best job ever. Sterling is the greatest place to live, ever. I float through the day in a euphoric daze. And I don't think about Brendan at all. Not even once.
Chapter 28
Mom assures me we won't have to move our heavy couch ourselves. "He's a really nice man and I think you'll like him," she says as she slides a roll of packing tape over a box. "If he's so nice, why can't he get here on time?" I check the time on the microwave.
"He's only an hour late, Taylor. It's no big deal."
"It is when I have to be at work tonight, and I need time to unpack my things," I whine. Mom throws her hands in the air. "Can you just chill for a minute? I'm sorry things aren't working out as quickly as you would like, but can you at least be happy that we have a new apartment now?"
"Sure, Mom." I plop down in a kitchen chair, and try to be a supportive non-whiney daughter. I could tell her how the new apartment is even more in the ghetto than this one is, and how it's ten miles away from the museum. Ten miles on the island means we're basically on the opposite side of where everyone else lives. In the projects. At least these apartments are in the ghetto part of the normal residential area. Unfortunately, it's also where the local gangs hang out.
I may not be scared of ghosts, but I am scared of gangs.
A car honk startles Mom and me. She jumps up and almost trips over a box on her way to the door. "Jim!" she squeals, rushing out to the parking lot. "I'm so glad you're here. Did anything happen?"
He says something in a gruffy voice that I can't make out. I sling my backpack over my shoulder; it's the only thing I have left since all of my possessions, all three grocery bags full, are already in the Ford. Mom didn't want to ride with me to the new apartment. She wanted to ride with Jim.
"What all do we gotta move?" Jim asks, bounding into the living room like he owns the place. I try to slip past him, but when I smell the Crown on his breath, I look up and our eyes meet. "Son of a-" I whisper. Mom joins us, sliding her arm over my shoulder. "Jim, this is Taylor, my daughter. Isn't she beautiful?"
"Stay away from my mother," I say through clenched teeth. He chuckles. Mom yanks me toward her and glares at me. "Don't talk like that!"
I throw her arm off me, rage filling every inch of my body. I want to scream at her, ask her how she could be so stupid to date an idiot drunk. But even though she's giving me this look like she's mad at me, deep down I can still see her eyes pleading me for approval. "Don't date this guy," I say. "He's a drunk. And you're better than that."
"Taylor!" Mom's eyes burn straight through me.
"Wait, never mind," I say. "You aren't better than that."
Pushing past Jim, I dash out of the front door and sprint to the Ford. Mom yells something at me with a ton of curse words, but I don't listen to it. I'll pay for this later, but for now, I don't care. Why does it seem like I'm the only adult in my family?
The truck starts with its usual loud diesel rumbling that always comforts me. I look around as I back out of my parking spot, half expecting to see Mom running after me. With three hours until I need to be at work, I drive to the east end of the island to where my new home will be.
Shell Shores, the newest subdivision on the island, rests at the very end of the beach. This beach isn’t as pretty as the rest of the beach because instead of sand it has large blocks of granite to prevent erosion of the land. I tried to be happy about the fact that I'd have my own room now, but since I was paying for more than half of the bills, I deserved it. Plus, if it means Mom gets to bring her boyfriend who marinates in liquor overnight, then it's not really a good investment of my money.
Again, I regret letting Mom know how much money I make doing tours with Raine. Last month I averaged a thousand dollars on just tours. Combined with my paychecks from the museum, I think I have enough money to live on my own, if only I were eighteen. If only I had a plan to take care of myself.
Brendan's face pops into my mind. His tanned skin, blue eyes and blond hair. When I think of him, I just see his face in a smile as if he's posing for a school photo. I can't picture him clearly when I imagine all those nights we spent in the tree house, or the times I'd look over at him while he drove the Ford. I try so hard, but I can never picture him in three dimensions. He is just a blank face in my mind.
He had a plan for us. He was going to get us out of our small town and we would make something of ourselves. He would have never let me give all my money to support Mom; he would have been my partner and we'd support each other. I stop at a red light, the last intersection on the island, and let my head fall to the steering wheel. Why do I dream about how Brendan would have made everything different? If he had never died, we wouldn't be on this island. I'd be home, safe with Brendan and helping to set our plan for the future into motion.
I wish I could talk to him now and get his advice. Even if I couldn't see him again, even if I just had to talk to thin air like Raine does to his ghosts…
My hands grip the steering wheel as I drive forward, toward the end of the island where nearly nothing fun or cool exists. I pass an old gas station that's long been out of business on the left. On the right is a sign for Thirteen Mile Road.
I slam on the brakes and the Ford screeches to a stop. Then I shift into reverse and turn onto Thirteen Mile Road. The new apartment can wait. I have a ghost to interrogate.
The mansion isn't scary in the daylight. The once daunting driveway is really just a gravel road that leads straight
up to the house. The creepy porch is empty, all except for a pile of leaves and trash the wind swept into a corner.
The living room is larger than I thought, with high vaulted ceilings and wood floors. A mural is painted on the entire left wall and although many parts are cracked and chipped, I can still make out the scene. It's pirates. Life-sized pirates with a parrot on their shoulder and a sword in their hand. In the corner their pirate ship awaits. The whole scene is amazing, and something Raine's flashlight would have never captured in full.
The stairs are older and way more dilapidated in the daylight. It's amazing that we ever got up and down them twice without falling through. I grip the handrail and climb to the top. Mrs. Graves' room is on the left, but now I'm dying to check out all the rooms to the right. From the hallway, I can look down into the living room below. The spackling on the walls have broken off in many places, revealing bricks underneath. This place is amazing.
"Hello," I say, tipping my imaginary hat to the portrait outside of Mrs. Graves' room. "Lovely day, isn't it?" She doesn't answer. I open the door and enter the room. The sunlight filters in through the balcony doors, lighting up the room in ways our flashlights never could.
Closing the door behind me, I put my back against it and sit down. I look up at the ceiling; its decorative wooden beams covered in spider webs. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I just have to do what Raine does, even though it feels so totally stupid.
I clear my throat and hear it echo across the room. "Hello?" Sitting very still, I open my eyes wide and try to focus on everything at once. If even the slightest thing happens, I want to see it. "Mrs. Graves?" I ask, my voice stronger in the empty room.
"I won't hurt you," I say, letting my head drop to my knees. This is so stupid. I get this weird feeling like maybe there's hidden cameras everywhere and I'm on a reality show, with people laughing their heads off at how stupid I am. Suspicious, I look from corner to corner of the room, up at the ceiling and down by the floor. My eyes stop at a box underneath the bed.