I stare at the mac 'n' cheese on my plate that's turning into something that resembles wallpaper paste. Or maybe that's just the way my tongue feels as I sit here and await the next wave of attack from Jason.
"You mind if I talk to Kendall for a mo'?"
Celia glances at me and I nod that I'm okay. She scooches her tray out of the way and into her hands. Taylor joins her, and suddenly, I'm left alone with Jason and his clear blue eyes.
I place a forkful of the cheesy noodles into my mouth and chew slowly. If I'm eating, then I'm less likely to tell him to go screw. Sad. My dreams and visions showed us being so close, not butting heads like this.
"Look," he says. He stops and puts his hands one on top of the other on the table. "I'm an asshole, okay?"
I can't help but laugh. "No argument there, skippy."
He seems flustered. "I'm trying to apologize here."
"Then stop being so judgmental—especially about me. You know nothing about me."
"I know."
"And you're always acting like an adult. Like a parent. Like my parent. Hell, I come to school and hang with my friends to get away from adults who are always telling me what to do. But there you are to pick up the slack."
"I know."
I flail my arms about to make my point. "You're sixteen, Jason. Just like me. Just like Taylor. Just like Celia."
He reaches out and nabs my wrists in his large hands. Lightning bolts shoot up my arms, down my torso, and go rapid-fire down my legs, like my entire circulatory system has been seared from the inside. "Kendall. I said I'm sorry. Okay?"
Slowly, reluctantly almost, he loosens his grip and lets me go. I return my hands to the table, stretching them out in front of me and mirroring his own position. I nervously wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and try to gulp down that stupid lump in my throat. "Ohhhh-kay. What's the catch?"
A sigh escapes from him. "No catch, Kendall. I'm just trying to make peace with my sister. Since you're a close friend now, I need to quit being such a jerk to you. You aren't the problem."
No, I'm not. That's too snarky. I'll take the high ground instead. "For what it's worth, I think it's sort of sweet that you look out for Taylor the way you do."
He lifts his eyes to mine and smiles. Wow, what a smile. He should definitely do that more often. "Thanks. I try."
"I mean, I'm the oldest too," I say, hoping I'm not rambling in the face of such amazing cuteness. "My little sister, Kaitlin, is a total head case, but I'd do anything for her. Especially if I thought she was doing something that would hurt her."
"Then you know why I have to watch out for Taylor. She's so innocent and has a heart of gold. She doesn't think there's anything bad in this world. I just want to prevent her from being hurt again." He lowers his eyes, but I don't think he honestly believes I want to harm his sister.
"I know that means a lot to her. Especially considering what's going on with your parents. It can't be easy, Jason." I want to touch him again, but I don't dare. Just because I've had fantasies about him doesn't mean he'd take too kindly to my acting on them.
"She told you, huh?"
"Yeah. Don't worry. Taylor's my friend and I'd never repeat anything that personal about her. Or you," I tack on.
Jason toys with the spoon Celia left behind. "I have to watch out for her. She's always been a daddy's girl, whether she'll admit it or not. She's bummed in the biggest way that he took off for Alaska. So I try to be there for her as much as I can," he admits.
"She knows that," I assure him. "But you have to realize she can take care of herself. Meanwhile, your teenage years are passing you by. Shouldn't you be hanging with the guys? Playing sports? Dating a cheerleader or something? You don't have to be the grownup, Jason."
He's quiet for a minute, and then he bobs his head. "You're right, Kendall."
About which part, I wonder. The dating-the-cheerleader part? No, no, no ... focus.
We're silent for at least a full minute as he listens to the music that Becca's mixing. Something about "taking advantage of a once-in-a-lifetime chance" is playing out. I try not to read too much into the meaning of the lyrics. It's too late, though. I believe I'm falling into a black abyss of crushdom on this guy, although I know he's just making the effort to be nice for his sister's sake.
"Speaking of acting my age," he says, startling me a little bit. "I did a lot of research on ghost hunting last night. I'll admit, it's some really fascinating stuff."
I toss my hair back and concentrate hard, trying to get a read on him to see if I can tune in to his thoughts, like Loreen can do with me—but nothing. He's a steel wall of mental resolve. Guess I'll have to get info from him the old-fashioned way. "You were checking out how to ghost hunt. Now why would you want to do that?"
His eyes widen. "It's not to check up on Taylor or anything. It just seems interesting. I had no idea how popular or 'in' it was. There are tons of paranormal groups out there on the Internet that are doing what you're doing."
"Planned on doing," I mutter.
"Past tense?" He scrubs his hand through his blond hair. "Shit, Kendall. I hope my tirade last night didn't have anything to do with it."
I shrug my shoulders. His performance and anger hadn't helped, but it was all my doing. "I knew my mom would be upset if she found out that I was trying to contact spirits. I probably shouldn't have gone into something like that so green, you know? I think getting nauseated to the point where I wanted to puke and then passing out was enough to put the whole ghost-hunting thing over the edge for her."
"So, give your mother some time to settle into the town, and her job, and to make new friends, and then she won't pay so much attention to your activities."
Jason just might have a point there.
Nodding in agreement, I say, "I'd really like to finish what we've started." My family's safety may depend on it. How can I tell my parents about that without them thinking I do talk to Satan on a regular basis?
"You'll be hunting again soon, if Taylor has anything to say about it." He snickers a little and then doesn't miss a beat. "You know, in the stuff I was reading on the Internet, I noticed one thing most all of those groups had in common."
"What's that?" I ask.
He tosses the spoon aside, obviously bored with it. I hope he's not bored with me too. "They all have a skeptic on the team to keep things honest."
"Celia's mentioned that."
"Do you have one?"
"One what? A skeptic?"
"Yeah. Someone who can debunk your findings and keep you down-to-earth and realistic."
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. "I suppose you think Taylor can be objective?"
Clearing his throat, Jason says, "No, actually, I thought I could do that."
I wasn't expecting that! "You? Are you pulling my leg?"
Jason ducks under the table and then pops back up with a smile. "Nope. Not me."
Oh, that dimple just about does me in. "You think you could work with a psychic?"
"As long as she doesn't go psycho."
We laugh together, and it feels good. Natural. That's when the misty dream or vision or something crosses in front of me in a soft, seductive movie sequence. It's me. And Jason. We're embracing. Not just a hug or holding each other. It's a warm, romantic gesture. My throat is parched, and swallowing right now would take an act of Congress. Sweat covers my skin and I suddenly feel sticky-hot in anticipation of when this vision might come true. Or if it'll come true.
"Kendall?" he prods. "Hey, you okay?"
The lunch bell rings and knocks me out of my daze.
"Uh, yeah. Fine. Sorry." I quickly gather my things and start backing away from the hunk and a half of guy who has thrown me off balance. "I'll, um, think about it, Jason. Thanks."
"You do that," he says with a dazzling smile that leaves me breathless.
Like the grounded child that I am, I head straight home from school Monday afternoon as soon as the closing bell rings. Mom said she was going to hav
e a list of chores on the counter for me to "get straight to." Great. She'll probably have me grouting the tile or peeling off that god-awful acorn wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom. Or worse, I'll have to babysit Kaitlin and be tortured with episodes of Hannah Montana. No. Thank. You.
As I'm walking up our drive, though, I see not only Mom's Sienna but Dad's Volvo in the driveway. What are both of them doing home from work at three in the afternoon? I snicker at the thought of them having some "afternoon delight," and then my fingers begin to tingle. This signifies anything but good news. Gravel crunches under my feet, sounding more like falling boulders than mere pebbles. My pulse ripples away under my skin. My head aches in a throbbing way over my left eye, and I blink hard at the soreness emanating from my skull.
The pain's not mine. It's someone else's.
I open the back gate, only to be passed by both Buckley and Natalie, meowing and pawing at each other. Buckley runs under the porch in a gray and white blur, but Natalie stops on the path in front of me.
Rarrrrrahhh. She rolls over at my feet, purring and rubbing her head in the dirt.
I squat down and scratch her between the ears. "You act like I never give you any attention." Natalie closes her eyes and enjoys the affection. This distracts me from my piercing headache, but only until I notice that Natalie's tail is thumping. Not just the happy thump of a contented kitty. It's rhythmic. It's got motion. It's more like it's pounding out a message I'm supposed to listen to. My instincts perk up.
Thuuuuuump, thump, thump, thump, thuuuuuump, thuuuuuump, thump, thump, thump, thuuuuuump, thump.
Can she really be trying to tell me something, or is she just in kitty ecstasy?
Then she does it again, and I sit down and pay closer attention.
Thuuuuuump, thump, thump, thump, thuuuuuump, thuuuuuump, thump, thump, thump, thuuuuuump, thump.
"What are you saying, Natalie?"
Thuuuuuump, thump, thump, thump, thuuuuuump, thuuuuuump, thump, thump, thump, thuuuuuump, thump.
I pull a pen from my bag and jot the pattern down on the palm of my hand. Looking at what I've drawn, I see a series of long and short marks that remind me of some sort of code. Long, short, short, short, long, long, short, short, short, long, short—like Morse code.
"That's not even possible, though! You're a freakin' cat."
Natalie peers at me through squinted eyes, continuing to purr without a care in the world. She stretches her mouth in a bored yawn as if to say,Just keep rubbing me, person.
I am insane if I think this cat is sending Morse code to me. I've been hanging with Celia the Conspiracy Theorist too long. But Natalie is trying to get my attention and tell me something, I just know it. The throbbing in my head continues in a migraine-type way. I know as sure as I'm sitting here that something's not right inside my house. Especially since both of my parents are home. Suddenly, letters appear in a vision that I can't control. Poster boards, like you see cheerleaders hold at a pep rally when they're leading a chant, or in a phonics lesson on Sesame Street. The letters are different sizes, shapes, and spacings, but the message is clear.
"D-A-N-G-E-R." I suck in the biggest gasp of air, which nearly gags me. "Holy shit! Dad!"
I pull my hand from Natalie and she quickly scrambles away in the direction Buckley ran. Dad! Something's happened to my father! Has Emily gone and done something to him? Is Natalie warning me? I fly across the porch, through the kitchen, and skid to a stop as I enter the living room. My parents are both sitting there on the Jennifer sectional, zombie-like.
Mom's obviously been crying, but she's also got her first aid kit out, which means something's happened. Dad turns and looks at me. He's scary-pale, and has a nasty-ass deep purple bruise on his head. Mom's applying a compress to his face. When she moves it away, I see dried blood on the side of his cheek. I grab my head and breathe scorching hot air into my lungs.
Holy hell. My vision has come true.
"Did Emily do this to you?" I manage to get out.
"Who?" Mom asks.
I try to tamp down my anger, which is mixed with borderline panic. "The ghost who lives here."
Mom's brows knit together. "Kendall, I won't have you talking like that."
"But Mom!"
Raising his hand to stop us both, Dad says, "Sarah. Please." He turns to me. "No, kiddo. This happened at work. I'd heard there was a ghost in city hall, but I didn't believe it. Didn't believe the stories about my predecessor and how he quit because of..." He trails off. He touches his head and winces at the contact. "There's just no other explanation. I was alone. No one was around. I didn't imagine anything. Someone... something ...unseen attacked me."
"David, we don't need to encourage her."
"I think that's exactly what we need to do."
Mom sniffs back her tears and grips Dad's hand. I notice when she swallows hard, like she's trying to get past all of her beliefs and the way she's bringing me up. Pain and confusion dance in her eyes, speaking volumes to my heart and mind. This is beyond her control. Her reasoning. She doesn't want to okay this. It goes against everything she stands for. Bottom line, though, is Dad's been hurt—like I foresaw—and something has to be done.
"We can't fight it, Sarah. If our daughter can help, we need to let her," Dad says softly.
I blink hard, and I know exactly what Mom's reluctantly thinking.
The parental-imposed grounding is off ... for now.
The ghost huntress is back in business!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Okay, here's the four-one-one."
I perch on the end of my bed with the notes that I took after I talked to my dad two days ago, after the Incident. Taylor sits at my desk, Celia's sitting cross-legged on the floor, and Becca Asiaf is leaning against my wall, picking at her black nail polish.
An impromptu dowsing session with Grandma Ethel's crystal necklace and Emily the ghost told me that Emily's not at fault for Dad's injury. We're dealing with a whole other ball of paranormal wax. For now, Emily will have to wait.
We have our first official case: File #GH-0001—Radisson City Hall.
"My father's city planner office was completely ransacked on Sunday night. He discovered it when he went to work Monday morning. Aside from pens and papers all over the place, the architectural model of the new city development he's been working on had been cut into a zillion pieces; looked like lawn shears had gone at it."
"That's phenomenal," Celia says with a shine in her eye.
"That's definitely some genuine poltergeist activity. Imagine if we can get that on video."
Becca snickers a little. "So you're saying Edward Scissor-hands lives and bullshitted your dad's office?"
"Not exactly." I slip from the bed and sit on the floor opposite Becca. "His office was locked after five p.m. The security guard said no one was in the building after seven. A quick scan of the security cameras didn't show anyone going in or out of the office after Dad."
Taylor taps her pen on her bottom lip and then says, "We should take a look at the security camera to see if we can see anything that others might have missed. Like orbs or anomalies."
"Or ectoplasm," Celia adds.
Becca drops her eyes. "I can listen to the tape too, to see if I can pick up any sounds, you know. Like, isn't that what you want me doing?"
"Absolutely!" I'm stoked. They're into this.
"So what, like, happened exactly to your dad?" Becca asks.
I sigh and my chest hurts from the trapped feelings of guilt and remorse at not having warned him of my visions. Would he have believed me, though? Probably not. "Dad was cleaning up the mess when he said he felt himself being dragged backwards into the hallway. Like someone had him by the collar. Then he was shoved down the stairs."
Taylor gasps in horror, her hand to her mouth, even though this is the third time she's heard this story.
"Heavy shit," Becca says.
"No kidding," I say firmly, trying to hide my fear over the entire sitch.
"
Fortunately, Mr. Moorehead was able to grab the banister and didn't fall all the way down the stairs. He wasn't hurt too badly," Celia adds.
I glower. "If you consider a mild concussion and a bloody cheek as not hurt too badly."
Celia looks over at me. "Sorry. Just that it could have been worse."
"You're right, Celia. I know what you meant. He is lucky. It could have been a hell of a lot worse if he'd busted his skull on the marble."
Taylor scribbles in her notebook. "Fascinating. Just fascinating. Oh! Not the part about your father's skull busting. Just that I'd love to get a couple of cameras set up in there on timers so we can get some still images and see what we're up against."
Celia turns to Becca. "I've got the recorders for you and I'll install the sound software on your computer."
"Cool."
Then Celia says to me, "Can you get in there to dowse, Kendall?"
"I'd like to," I say.
Stretching her long legs out, Celia adjusts her seated position and says, "I did some quick research on the city hall building. It dates back to the early 1800s and was a flourishing center of the town during and after the Civil War. Apparently, there were a lot of trials following the war that centered on local landowners."
"Fighting carpetbaggers and stuff?" Taylor asks.
"Probably so. Maybe other things," Celia explains. "We'll check it out further with some more research. Main thing is for all of us to be on the same page before going to the site. Becca, you're in charge of all the sound recordings. Taylor, pictures, pictures, pictures. Video, mini-DVD, you name it. I'll set up the base camp with the computers and monitoring for the infrared cameras—"
I straighten up. "You got them?"
"Six of them," Celia says with a smile.
I tilt a brow upward.
"What can I say?" she says with a laugh. "I knew your parents would eventually come around and we could do this for real. Had them FedExed a couple of days ago."
I reach over and high-five her. "You're the best!"
Looking around at the ragtag group of girls gathered in my bedroom, I can't help but be excited. We'll bring this ghost to justice. It'll regret the day it ever messed with my dad.
The Awakening Page 17