Past Midnight

by Mara Purnhagen

  Noah pulled me out of my thoughts. “I wouldn’t call my parents’ situation romantic.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My mom was pregnant with my older brother and my grandparents didn’t approve of my dad.”

  “Oh.”

  “It worked for a while, I guess. But it was hard. Mom was married with three kids before she turned twenty-one. And my dad split when I was four.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Noah shrugged. “It is what it is. Anyway, I hope that helps with your parents’ film.”

  “It does, actually. Thanks.”

  Noah’s scenario made sense. If Charlotte Pickens was in love and her parents didn’t approve, that may have been reason to leave. In my dream, the girl had seemed sad to go. She whispered goodbye and turned back to look at her family’s tent one last time. She knew she might not ever come back. Was it possible that she was pregnant, as well? It would have been a solid reason for a girl in the 1800s to vanish. Maybe she wanted to spare her parents certain public humiliation.

  I needed Annalise to conduct more research for me. If we could find the name of a boy who also went missing around the time of the earthquake, we might have something to go on.

  After I got home from school, I pulled out the article Noah had found for me. It was dated from the previous March. “Senior Class Mourns One of Its Own,” read the title. Bliss Reynolds was listed as the writer.

  While Spring Break is usually a time for celebration, this year it will be remembered as a time of mourning after a late-night accident claimed the life of Lincoln High senior Adam Roth. Roth was a passenger in a car driven by Jared James, a junior. James remains in critical condition at Mercy South Hospital.

  Both Roth and James attended a party earlier in the evening. They left together just after midnight and were traveling south down Main Street when James lost control of the car and struck a telephone pole. Roth was pronounced dead at the scene. James suffered head trauma and several broken bones. His mother, Evelyn James, said that it is unlikely her son will recover completely.

  “Please pray for my son,” she said.

  Witnesses said that a moment before striking the telephone pole, James’s car swerved sharply. Police have ruled out alcohol as a factor in the crash, but do not know why James lost control of the vehicle.

  “The accident remains under investigation,” said Officer Lettrick, who was first at the scene. James was conscious only briefly and told his mother that Roth grabbed the steering wheel, causing the car to crash.

  Roth, 18, had recently been accepted to the University of Michigan on a full football scholarship. Teammate Harris Abbott said he will remember Roth as a strong athlete, loyal friend and “an all-around great guy.”

  “We have lost a wonderful young man who was full of tremendous potential,” Coach Roberts said. “Adam will be sorely missed and fondly remembered.”

  The funeral service was held last week. A memorial service for the entire school will be held tomorrow afternoon in the gymnasium.

  I read through the article twice, but only one thing stood out to me. Had Adam really grabbed the wheel, causing the car to crash? Or was Jared simply trying to avoid blame? It wasn’t as scandalous as I had thought it would be. Avery’s anger had to stem from the suggestion that the accident was Adam’s fault. The article did confirm one thing for me, though—there was more to the story than Avery was saying.

  My parents had been dividing their time between examining the footage taken at home and filming at nearby historical sites. They weren’t having much luck with either project, though. Most of the local “hauntings” were easily debunked, and we needed more facts before we could move forward in the search for Charlotte Pickens. When they got home later that evening, I shared my theory about what may have caused her to run away.

  “Annalise has access to a lot of historical records in Charleston,” Mom said. “She’ll keep us posted.”

  I knew I should call my sister, but I wasn’t ready to have her yell at me. Instead, I decided to wait awhile so I could plan out the perfect apology.

  The next week went by smoothly. Jared didn’t return to school, and there were rumors that he had dropped out for good. Thankfully, people turned their attention to Homecoming. I helped the cheerleaders decorate paper masks, which we then plastered throughout the hallways. I liked the idea of a masquerade theme. I would be able to dress up, don a mask and blend in with the crowd.

  I fell back into my comfortable routine of going to class, eating lunch with the cheerleaders and editing footage with Noah, who I was starting to look forward to seeing every day. I liked that he was serious about his work and had goals to study film production in college.

  “What about you?” he asked. It was a Friday afternoon. We were sitting in front of the monitor where we always worked while Mr. Morley explained splicing scenes to a small group of freshmen at the front of the room.

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “You’re a senior. Do you know where you’ll be going to college next year?”

  “Charleston, probably.”

  The truth was, I hadn’t given college the same amount of thought and consideration as the other seniors had. I would see them before class, poring over the glossy catalogs or discussing application essays. I had applied to Charleston before we moved simply because that’s where Annalise was, and I was afraid that if I went somewhere out of state we would never see each other. My parents didn’t have a home base, they were always traveling, and I didn’t want to spend Christmas in a hotel room while my parents visited. If both Annalise and I were going to the same school, our parents could come to us, and at least we’d all be together a few times each year.

  Still, part of me wanted to attend school somewhere else. I wasn’t sure where, exactly, but I’d looked up schools online and had sent away for applications, just so I could have some options. It was the last week of September, and I knew I was running out of time.

  College was still on my mind when I got home that afternoon, and I was pleased to find several school information packets crammed into the mailbox. As I pulled them out, though, another piece of mail caught my eye, and I groaned.

  “Oh, no.”

  I grabbed everything and rushed inside, spilling the bills and catalogs across the kitchen counter. None of it mattered except the one thing, the one awful thing, that I held in my hands.

  My time was up.

  By Monday, it would be over.

  twelve

  My parents weren’t smiling. Instead, they looked at me with serious expressions, the ones they used when they were investigating something unusual. Behind them floated Annalise, shrouded in a neon-green haze.

  At the end of each month we received a channel guide. It was a bulky magazine that featured hundreds of pages of TV schedules, as well as a dozen pages dedicated to that month’s “Best Bets.” Everyone in town got a copy unless they owned a satellite dish. Usually we just recycled them, but I knew this issue would be different. My parents would add this one to their collection of memorabilia.

  They were on the cover.

  “October’s Best Bet: A Silver Spirits Marathon,” screamed the title. I flipped to the article, a four-page layout that included more pictures and a column of “Fun Facts” about my family:

  Patrick and Karen Silver have been married for 23 years, but have been researching the supernatural together for over 25 years!

  They have two daughters: Annalise, 20, and Charlotte, 17.

  The first “Silver Spirits” documentary aired on the day Annalise was born.

  The Silvers have produced 60 one-hour documentaries and have published four books together.

  The Silver family presently resides in South Carolina.

  I sighed. Although I wasn’t in any of the pictures—it was mainly my parents and a few with Shane—I had been mentioned by name. And the marathon would run all month, with two episodes airing each night. I could be seen in a few of those, often in the background but someti
mes in the closing credits, too.

  “This is not good,” I muttered.

  “This is great!” Mom exclaimed from behind me. I jumped. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, picking up the magazine. “Did this arrive today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your dad will be thrilled. We’ll add it to the collection.”

  The collection consisted of every newspaper or magazine they’d ever been mentioned in, all stored by date in twenty brightly colored plastic storage bins. When we moved to our new house, I worried that my parents might hang some of the framed covers in our new house, but they didn’t want to put nails in the walls.

  “We’re moving in a year,” Dad had said. “Let’s try to keep the place looking new.”

  I was relieved. There was no way I could bring people over if the walls displayed a gallery of memorabilia dedicated to my parents’ bizarre career. The bins had been safely stacked in the garage to gather cobwebs.

  “I’m not happy about this,” I told Mom. I followed her from the kitchen to the dining room. She moved my pillow aside on the sofa and sat down to read the article.

  “Not happy about what?”

  “The channel guide. Now everyone will know that we’re freaks.”

  “Charlotte, stop. We are not freaks.”

  I flopped down next to Mom. “Well, we’re not normal. And after the school sees this, I’ll be crowned Queen of the Weird.”

  She smiled. “The Princess of the Paranormal.”

  It was an old joke. The dedication page of their third book had read, “To Charlotte, our paranormal princess.” I was five and had been going around telling everyone I wanted to be a princess when I grew up. At first, the dedication had thrilled me, but then other kids began to tease me about it. It had been a long time ago, but every once in a while someone I’d never met before would comment on it.

  “This is serious, Mom. You have no idea how crazy it can get.”

  She closed the magazine and looked at me. “Yes, I do. And I also know how crazy you can get when you think everyone’s talking about you. Believe me, Charlotte, most people are more concerned with themselves than what someone else’s parents do for a living. Besides, your friends don’t care.”

  “That’s because my friends don’t know.”

  “We’ve lived here for over two months and you haven’t told anyone?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Mom sighed. “Well, it needs to come from you. Otherwise, they’ll think you really are hiding something strange.”

  I started to say that I was, but Mom held up her hand. “Don’t say it. Honey, I love you, but I’m worried. You tend to avoid your problems rather than face them. Maybe it’s time to change that.”

  She got up and left the room, leaving me to fume over her words. I didn’t avoid my problems. I just didn’t feel as though I had to focus on them every minute of every day. And telling people about certain aspects of my life would only create trouble. If I was guilty of anything, it was of trying not to bring new problems into my life. That wasn’t avoidance. That was logical thinking.

  After a while I realized there was only one person I could talk to, only one who would understand exactly what I was going through. I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Annalise? It’s me.”

  “Hey.” She was quiet, so I figured she was still mad at me.

  “Look, I’m really sorry for yelling at you and storming off like that. I was upset, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. But I get it. You’ve had a lot to deal with lately.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I described for Annalise everything that had happened since she had returned to school, starting with my strange encounter with Bliss. I told her about Avery’s secret, the etching in my nightstand and my theory that Charlotte Pickens had run away from home because she was pregnant. Finally, I explained the channel guide and how my own secret was now exposed.

  “You know how it is,” I said. “The last time everyone found out, it was a disaster. It took about two weeks before half the school was convinced I belonged to some kind of cult. Eva Landon told me she prayed for my soul every morning.”

  “How did you deal with it?” Annalise asked.

  “We moved after Thanksgiving, so I didn’t have to.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t avoid the problem.”

  “Very funny. It wasn’t my fault that we moved.”

  “No, but Mom has a point. You don’t like to deal with stuff.” I could hear Annalise moving things around on her desk. “I mean, you don’t face your problems head-on. You just try to leave them behind you. Problem is, this time you’re stuck. Mom and Dad aren’t moving again until the summer.”

  “Thanks for the psychological evaluation,” I muttered.

  “Charlotte, I’m trying to help. Don’t be defensive.”

  “Fine. Help me. What do I do now?”

  “Like I said, it’s time to confront your problems. That means talking to Bliss, coming clean with Avery and dealing with your ghosts. No more evasion.”

  I knew she was right, but none of it was going to be easy. There was so much to lose. What if Bliss made me angry and something else happened? It would be my fault. What if Avery and Callie and the other girls freaked out on me? I’d have to find new friends all over again. What if the ghosts got stronger and I failed at finding their daughter? I’d be stuck with powerful, persistent spirits following my every move.

  “Have you found anything new on the Pickenses?” I asked.

  Annalise sighed. “No, which is pretty odd, actually. They owned property in Charleston, and the house was in their name for a long time, but I can’t find their death certificates or anything. They must have moved, but I have no idea where.”

  “Great. So now we’re searching for three graves, not just one.”

  Annalise promised to keep researching in Charleston, and I promised to do more to manage my situation at home. After we hung up, I wandered into the kitchen, where Shane was making a sandwich at the counter. He was wearing a faded black concert T-shirt and a pair of headphones around his neck.

  “Hey, kid, how you doing?”

  “Fine.” I pulled a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and poured myself a glass. “I talked with Annalise.” I sipped my drink.

  Shane sat down. “Did you? Good. I heard you had a little disagreement before she left.”

  “I apologized. We’re good now.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Shane watched me drink my tea, and I thought about how he was like an uncle to me. He’d taught me how to ride a bike and hold a video camera and make omelets. When I was little I worried that he’d meet a woman, get married and leave us behind. Now I worried that he wouldn’t get married and would be single and lonely for the rest of his life.

  “This must be rough for you,” he said. “I mean, I’ve seen some freaky stuff over the years, but this one beats all.”

  I set down my glass. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never seen your folks so worried.” He lowered his voice. “Your mom’s been talking to psychics. Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

  I almost choked on my tea. “Psychics? Mom doesn’t believe in psychics!”

  Shane laughed. “I know. But she figures there might be someone who could help. Once we find this girl, we have to do something to give her parents closure, you know? Your mom thinks there might be some kind of ceremony or prayer or something we’ll need.”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. If we did locate the final resting place of Charlotte Pickens, what then? I guess I had assumed that her parents would be following me around. They would see the tombstone and that would be that. But something about that scenario felt incomplete, in a way. It couldn’t be so simple.

  I pointed to Shane’s headphones. “What are you working on today?”

  “The Charleston footage. We’re trying to
scrape enough together for a one-hour special.”

  “I thought you’d be using the stuff from the Courtyard Café. There’s more than enough tape.”

  Shane shook his head. “Nah. We don’t want to use what’s happening to you. That’s family business.”

  I was surprised. All this time, I figured my parents were interested in figuring out what was going on so they could produce another TV episode.

  “By the way, I’ve rigged your room with everything we’ve got. Thermal camera, digital recorders—the works. If something happens, we’ll get it on tape.”

  Shane returned to his work and I went back to the dining room. If everyone else was confronting my problems, it was time for me to do the same.

  I picked up the phone and called Avery.

  “Can you come over?” I asked. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “I’m on my way out the door, actually. My mom’s having car trouble. I need to pick her up at work.”

  I glanced at the clock. It was nearly six. “Can you come over after that?”

  “Sure. I should be back in less than an hour. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I just—well, I need to tell you in person.”

  “Got it. I’ll be over later.”

  I felt better after I hung up the phone. Nervous, but glad that I was going to come clean with Avery. No more secrets, no more avoiding things.

  I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, hoping to find some mindless entertainment so I wouldn’t have to think about what I was going to say to Avery. I had just settled on a game show when the doorbell rang.