Taylor smirks at me through her tears. "You're such a grownup sometimes."
"Yeah, well ... comes with the territory of being psychic and knowing everyone's business."
"Why don't I drive you over to the hospital," Shelby-Nichole offers to Taylor.
"That's a good idea," I chime in. I wink at Shelby-Nichole and she smiles back.
I have to get to Jason.
And for once, I am connected psychically to him. His heart is heavy with doubt and sorrow. But mostly, he's concerned about ... leaving me.
I pull my Fit into the empty parking lot of Town Lake. Well, empty save for a black Jeep. Jason's Jeep. He's sitting at the end of the short pier bouncing a fishing pole in the murky green water.
"Practicing for life in Alaska?" I ask, trying to lighten the air.
He squints into the sun to see me. "I guess you've heard, huh?"
"Yeah, Taylor's beside herself."
Jason fidgets with the lure, reeling it in and then tossing it back out twenty feet in front of him. "She's not the only one."
He turns to me and slides his hand against my cheek. I rub into it much like Eleanor, Buckley, and Natalie do when it's dinnertime and they give thanks against my calf muscle.
"I don't want to leave you, Kendall," Jason says softly.
I kiss him tenderly. "I don't want you to either, but what can you do?"
"I told Dad that I could live with Roachie so I can finish school. He won't have it, though. Says I'm too young to be on my own."
I thread my fingers through the fingers of his left hand. "Well, you are."
Jason pulls away. "I can take care of myself. I've been doing it since he left for Alaska to start with. Now he wants to drag me into his world."
I gaze into his troubled eyes. I have no earthly clue what to say to him. Instead, I clink our hematite bracelets together; the magnets reach out to each other. "We'll always be together, Jason. Distance is nothing for us. We can e-mail and call and visit each other."
"You know that's not going to happen. You're going to move on. You'll forget me. Hell, maybe I should forget you."
Ummm ... hold the phone! What did he just say?
The hairs on the back of my neck rise up. "Excuse me?"
Jason drops my hand and wipes his palm against his jeans as if my touch were poisonous. "Ever since you came into my life, nothing has been the same. Instead of concentrating on taking care of Mom and Taylor, I've been worrying about you."
"Wait just a damn minute now—"
He points his index finger in my face. "No!You wait!You've possessed me, Kendall Moorehead. With your psychic awakening and ghost hunting and being so different from the other girls here in Radisson. I don't know what you've done, but all I think about is you and if you're all right or in danger. You! To the detriment of my own family. Taylor's changed right before my eyes, and Mom ... well, Mom's a friggin' mess!"
"Jason! This isn't my—"
He stands now, pacing on the pier. "If I hadn't been so consumed with you, with the dreams I constantly have about something hurting you, I would have been there for my mom. I could take better care of my sister. I could keep my family together and not have to move to freakin' Alaska with the moose and polar bears!"
I stand too and fist my hands at my sides. "How dare you, Jason Tillson! I come here to tell you how much I love you and will miss you and how we can keep in touch, and you try to lay this all on me?" I want to cry, but the tears just won't form yet. I think my tear ducts are as horrified as I am.
Jason's not himself. Not at all. But what do I expect, considering the turn of events? Still, he lashes out at me. "I can't get you out of my head, Kendall. I think it's love, but mostly it's this obsession with keeping you safe. I, too, have dreams of you hurt and dying. And I can't stop it." He pounds his chest. "Do you know what kind of responsibility that is? I can't help my sister, I couldn't help my mom, so how the hell am I supposed to help you?"
"Jason, nothing's going to—"
"You don't know that, K!"
No, I don't know that. He's right.
His hands return to his hair and he scrubs at his scalp. "I can't explain any of this. Just that you've been a distraction."
"We're connected, Jason. Cosmically. We were meant to be together." I know this with every fiber of my being.
"God, you're just losing it now," he says. "Everyone is. I can't save everyone."
I put my hand on his arm. "No one is asking you to. Especially not me."
A smirk crosses his face. "Oh, that's just great. Go out there and channel unknown spirits and flop around the floor like a fish out of the tank. Right. That's healthy. That's normal."
I nearly growl. "It's normal for me and you know that!"
He stops for a minute, his chest rising and falling emphatically with every breath. Then he musters up more verbal ammunition. "I forbid you to ghost hunt anymore."
I have to laugh. A bubble of near-psychotic amusement pops out of me. "I don't think so!"
"Seriously, Kendall. If I'm gone to Alaska and not here to protect you, then I don't want you ghost hunting anymore."
Hands on hips, I step back. "That's absurd, Jason. You know this is my calling."
"Then don't answer the phone," he says sarcastically.
I know he's only lashing out at me because of everything going on, but damnit, he's pissing me off big-time. The strong-willed little animal inside of me rears up on its hind legs, and I feel myself about to give the I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar speech.
"I'll do whatever I want, Jason!" I grit my teeth to try and temper my rage. "You think you're the only person who's had anything happen to him? Remember, I was ripped out of the home I've known my entire life in Chicago to be dragged down here to Where Jesus Lost His Sandals, Georgia, where I have been teased, ridiculed, poked fun at, mistreated, ostracized, and cast out. Yeah, shit happens, but we deal with it. It is what it is. You can't control other people's lives, though. Your mom is responsible for herself, as is Taylor, as am I."
His lips flatten. "So you're going to defy me?"
"Is your name David Moorehead?" I smart off. "Last time I checked, he's still got the job of Kendall's father."
Jason bends down and snags his car keys and fishing gear. "Fine. If you want to continue to put yourself at risk and ghost hunt, then go ahead. I wash my hands of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Fire blazes in his eyes. "You're on your own from here on out, Kendall."
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
And with that, the love of my life turns and storms away.
When his Jeep is out of sight, I collapse to the pier and cry.
Chapter Twelve
THE REST OF THIS WEEK sucks ass.
Taylor's in a funk.
Jason's in a funk.
I'm in a funk.
Celia and Becca are in a funk 'cause the rest of us are so funky with one another. It's a total cluster—well, you know the rest of the word.
Friday at lunch, Becca opts to let a Trance CD play while she sits at the lunch table with Celia and me. Celia's knee-deep in her research of Sherry Biddison, as well as her continued study on everything Emily Faulkner. Her cousin Paul is still sifting through missing-persons reports to get us some information. Interestingly, Emily has made herself very scarce. She knows we're digging into her past and apparently wants nothing to do with it. Great—now she leaves me alone.
Becca opens a pack of Twix, removes one, and slides the other one across the table to me. "You need some medication, g'friend."
I smile, take the offered chocolate, and crunch down into it. Mmmm ... Woman's best friend—despite Marilyn thinking it's diamonds.
"Thanks, Dr. Asiaf."
I'm finishing up the sugary treat—and licking every last morsel off my fingers—when Shelby-Nichole plops down next to me.
"Y'all ... I need help." Her face is flushed and she's visibly shaking. "I got to school late today, but I've been wanting to t
alk to y'all."
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Something's terribly wrong with Donn," Shelby-Nichole says, her voice low.
"Why are you whispering?" Becca asks.
Stunned, Shelby-Nichole says, "Because she's, like, the mayor of the entire town. It doesn't bode well for Radisson if she's ... gone all wack."
I hold my hands up. "Now wait a sec. Tell us what's going on."
Celia removes a notebook from her backpack. "Don't leave out any details."
Shelby-Nichole steadies herself. "Last night, I was watching TV in my room and I heard screaming. Loud screaming. I bolted from my room with my typing trophy in my hand as a weapon. I found Donn sitting at the base of the grand staircase, her knees pulled up to her chin, and she was rocking back and forth."
"Yowza," Becca comments. "That sounds crazy."
"I know, right?" Shelby-Nichole says. She continues, "Then she starts humming. Not any tune I've ever heard. I can't even explain it other than to say it was eerie and sad. And to top it all off, it wasn't Donn's voice at all."
"Whose voice was it?" Celia asks.
Shelby-Nichole adjusts her glasses. "I don't have the slightest clue, but it wasn't my stepmom."
"Does the city council know this?" Celia asks.
Shelby-Nichole frowns. "Why would I tell them? And have Donn lose her job? Like—no. I'm telling y'all."
"It's Sherry Biddison," I say confidently. "She's trying to run Donn out of the house."
"Who is this woman?" Shelby-Nichole asks with heated frustration.
Celia shuffles through her notebook and begins reading us some of the research she's done on the Radisson mayor's mansion. "Back after the Civil War, there was a mayor named Harlan Biddison. His wife was Sherry and they had one son, Harlan Jr.; he married a woman named Virgilian Martin from Pennsylvania, who had nursed him when he was in a Union hospital following the Battle of Gettysburg. There's not much about the family other than Harlan Biddison was the mayor for fourteen years, and then his son, Harlan Jr. was the mayor for ten more." Celia shows me a printout of a portrait of the Biddison family. Harlan has a rather long mustache and beard, and his son is the spitting image of him. The women are a tad bit dowdy in their plain woolen clothing. One woman is standing on each side of the seated men. One is young, with lovely golden curls and a kind face. The other is older, more worn, and bitterness details her face. It's the same woman I saw peeking through the curtain of the mayor's mansion.
I point my finger at the picture. "That is Sherry Biddison."
Celia's brow lifts. "You sure?"
"Yep. I've seen her."
"That's the woman you allegedly channeled," Becca notes. "I got several EVPs from that night. Here." She withdraws a digital voice recorder from the pocket of her jeans and cues up a recording. We all lean over to listen closely.
You can hear me talking as I am channeling the spirit. However, there's also a laced-in voice pattern that's barely whispered.
"Right there," Becca says and hits Rewind. "Listen."
There's static and muffled voices and then, "Killlllllllll her."
"Whoa!" Shelby-Nichole's hand flies to her mouth. "Kill my stepmom?"
"It's not clear," Celia notes. "Could be anyone."
A sigh escapes my chest. "I wish I had more to go on. Something of Sherry Biddison that gives me a better picture of her as a person. All I know is what I've seen. She seems hateful and vengeful against ... someone."
"Maybe this'll help." Shelby-Nichole reaches into her purse and withdraws a gold pocket watch attached to a long chain. She places it in my hand and explains. "This was my dad's. It was passed on to him by the guy he replaced as mayor. Supposedly, this dates back to the early 1800s and was used by every mayor of the city. Donn didn't feel right taking it, so she passed it along to me. I carry it with me as a reminder of him. Maybe Harlan and Harlan Jr. used it?"
"Let's see what residual energy is attached to this." I flip the timepiece over in my palm as I breathe deeply. Flashed images of family dinners. Discussions of politics and America's future. Who to appoint as city clerk. The golden-haired woman working on mending. Servants tending to the lawn and garden. "I'm getting a lot of arguments. Raised voices. Disagreements. Men who weren't sure in what direction to take the city of Radisson after the war. Resentment over Yankees and carpetbaggers moving into town." I tighten my eyes and continue to filter the visions. Sherry's image comes into view. Her teeth are clenched. Deep lines are drawn across her once attractive face. The years of war and turmoil have caught up with her. A bitter taste forms in my mouth from the hatred filling Sherry Biddison's soul. There is severe hatred for ... Virgilian and the baby she carries. Sherry has a plan.
My eyelids flutter open and I focus on the friends before me. "We have to get in there and finish our investigation. I know why Sherry's still here, and we have to make her cross into the light before she hurts the mayor." I glance at Shelby-Nichole. "Or you ... or anyone."
Right now, I have no worry about my own physical well-being. I'm not scared of what my visions may have predicted about the future. I'm ignoring Emily's warnings to stay out of this case. I'm brushing aside Jason's concern. This is who I am and what I do. I'm a ghost huntress and I have to help this spirit.
"Who's up for a ghost hunt?" I ask.
"I'm in," Becca says quickly.
Celia winks. "You know I am."
Shelby-Nichole takes the watch back from me. "I'd like to help."
"Of course," I say with a warm smile to my new friend. "And we'll need one more person."
I nab my BlackBerry from my pocket and hit #4 on the speed dial. When the sweet, Southern voice answers on the second ring, I say, "Taylor Tillson. Hey, hon. I know you're packing up to leave, but we've got one more investigation before you head to Alaska. We can't do this without you."
I can sense her smile radiating through the phone. "What time do we start?"
"My dad isn't happy that I'm doing this," Taylor whispers. We're sitting in the darkened living room of Donn Shy, waiting.
"Did you tell him what this is all about?" I ask.
She nods. "Oui. He isn't too keen on this as an after-school activity. Especially when Jason gets like he's been lately. What did you two fight about?"
I swallow the lump in my throat at the mention of his name. We haven't talked since that day on the pier. No phone calls. No texts. Nothing. Emily showed up yesterday to criticize him, but I wouldn't listen. It's bad enough that he's leaving town. I hate that things with us are ending on this note.
Fingering the hematite bracelet on my left wrist, I say, "I don't really want to talk about it right now. Not while we're investigating."
"I understand." She sighs hard. "I'm going to miss this. Miss y'all. Miss Ryan."
I pat her leg. "I know, Taylor. It won't be the same around here without you."
A flashlight brightens the room and I glance up to see Celia and Shelby-Nichole joining us. "Y'all getting anything in here?" Celia asks.
"Taylor's gotten a few orbs," I say. "Probably not anything more than dust or bugs."
Shelby-Nichole snickers. "I can assure you there are no bugs in this house."
"Where's Becca?" I ask.
Celia points upward. "At the top of the stairs doing an EVP session with Loreen. Loreen said she was feeling a lot of energy in that hallway, so they camped out there."
"Okay ... sure."
Celia whispers to me. "My cousin may have a lead on our Emily Faulkner. The Jane Does that fit Emily's description and, er, status—meaning pregnant—were located at Riverside Methodist Hospital in Columbus, Ohio; Marion General Hospital in Marion, Indiana; and Northwestern Hospital in Chicago, of all places."
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "That's where Mom used to work."
"No shit?" Celia asks.
"I shit you not. I wonder if she remembers a pregnant Jane Doe."
"Come on, Kendall. I'm sure your mom has had plenty of Jane Does in her nursing care
er. You think she'd remember Emily?"
"I don't know. You can bet I'll ask, though."
Donn interrupts us to escort Father Massimo into the room.
"How's it going, ghost huntresses?" he asks with a vibrant smile. "Where's Jason?"
My face falls. "He told me he doesn't want to investigate anymore."
Father Mass winks at me as if to say everything will be okay.
"Is that you, Massimo?" Loreen calls down.
"Yeah, hon."
Hon? They're at the calling-each-other-hon stage?
"Bring the girls up here," she says. "We're getting all kinds of spikes on the EMF detector, and the Ovilus is saying some pretty wild things."
Everyone gathers in the vestibule at the top of the stairs landing. We're surrounded by the finest ghost-hunting equipment, all gathered thanks to Celia's AmEx account from her megarich Mega-Mart parents. To my left is a trifield meter measuring electrical static and radio frequencies. Celia's holding a K-II meter, and Becca's working with two digital voice recorders. Loreen is focusing on the Ovilus—whose creepy computer voice completely icks me out—and Taylor's got infrared cameras placed strategically and is using a couple of handheld video recorders. A laptop sits off to the side measuring the barometric pressure as well as any temperature changes. We are state-of-the-art here. No messing around.
However, after an hour of no hits on any of the machines, Shelby-Nichole lets out a long, loud yawn.
"Sorry, y'all," she says. She takes out her iPhone and scrolls through missed messages. "Damn, Colton called. Hope everything's all right with the Rambler. He is working on some layout this weekend. This is kind of boring. Maybe I should go help him."
"At midnight thirty?" Becca says with a bit of a laugh.
"Concentrate, Shelby-Nichole," Taylor instructs like a seasoned pro. "If ghost hunting were easy, everyone would be doing it."
"Truer words were never said," Celia quips.
Loreen suggests that I take out my rose quartz pendulum and try dowsing to see if that helps us make contact with Sherry Biddison.
"Good idea." I draw the crystal in its velvet pouch from my jeans pocket. I run through the normal test of "what is my yes" and "what is my no" to make sure the pendulum and I are connecting to each other.
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