The Awakening

by Marley Gibson

  Father Castellano nods and then squints at me in recognition. "Oh. You must be Kendall Moorehead, then."

  Hand to my chest, I ask, "You know me?"

  "I know of you," he says. "Father Burt Ludwig from Chi cago called me about your family." Following an elongated pause, he adds, "However, your mother called me about you."

  There are absolutely no secrets in this town. What happens in Radisson is shared with Radisson.

  "Great," I mutter. "Look, I don't know what she told you about me dabbling—"

  The priest holds up a hand to stop my defense. "I'm not here to judge you, Kendall. I'm here to help. In any way. Please know that."

  I scrunch my brows down in a "what 'choo talkin' 'bout, Willis" way—What? I've seen reruns on TV Land—and try to figure out Father Castellano's game plan. "You're not going to tell me that talking to spirits is evil, satanic, or demonic?"

  "Are you talking to demonic spirits?"

  "Not so far." Unless you count ghosts that lash out at people. "You can't be too careful, though." I hold up the little bag to show him. "That's why I need the holy water, so I can protect myself when dealing with the spirit dimension."

  He steps forward. "Whatever strengthens your faith and trust in God."

  Any minute now, the other shoe will drop. He'll tell me what a bad idea this ghost hunting is. How my abilities are a sin. That I should be spending my spare time at the church praying for my mortal soul or working with the Episcopal Communicators network—they're a group that focuses on helping young people deal with the stresses of just being a teen. Oh, honey, how much time do you have for me?

  Surprise follows when he says, "I think it's wonderful that you and your friends are trying to help those who may need assistance crossing over to their final resting place with our Lord."

  "You do? Y-y-you don't think we're crazy?"

  "No. And in fact, that's what I told your mother when she came to see me. I told her that God has called you for a specific purpose and no one should stand in your way until His plan for you is revealed."

  Whoa.

  I swallow the ginormous lump in my throat. "I've never thought of it that way." I jump slightly when the church bells ring, signifying fifteen minutes until the hour. "Excuse me, Father Castellano, but I've got to get to school."

  As I move to walk off, he places both hands on my shoulders to stop me, and then looks down into my eyes. "Just a moment, Kendall." He takes one hand from me to open the Ziploc. Dunking his thumb into the water, he then draws it across my forehead, making the sign of the cross.

  "The Lord bless you and keep you—the Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace. Amen."

  "Amen," I say. "Thank you, Father."

  "I'm here anytime you need anything, Kendall."

  I smile and wave. "I may take you up on that!" Then I bolt for school.

  ***

  Where r u? JT

  My heartbeat races like a tiny raft scuttling through white-water rapids as I look at the text message on my cell. JT. Jason. He's looking for me!

  @ study hall

  I click Send and squish the desire to giggle like Kaitlin watching old Olsen twins DVDs. I can't believe I made out with Jason like that. I mean, honestly! I can't believe he likes me. He does, doesn't he? Why else would he have kissed me like that? Especially after the rough start we had. It's hard enough being in a new town, trying to keep up with schoolwork, and on top of that, learning that I've been a dormant psychic who's now awakening to her abilities and hunting ghosts. And now I may have a boyfriend?

  Ooo, another message from him.

  Library? JT

  Yep!

  B there in a sec. JT

  Becca Asiaf drops her heavily braceleted arm to the table. "Enough with the tap-tap-tap, beep-beep-beep, would you? I think I've found something major."

  We're using our study-hall time to dig through old newspapers and scan microfiche to research city hall and what might be haunting it. Becca shoves a recent Radisson Gazette across the table to me and points. I stash my phone in my backpack and reach for the newspaper. "What am I looking at?"

  Becca sighs. "It's an article about that development your dad's working on. The model that was destroyed at city hall, wasn't that about the new distribution center for Mega-Mart?"

  I scrutinize the article a little more, scan-reading. "Oh, yeah. It's this massive two hundred fifty-seven acres on the outskirts of town where they're putting in the distribution center that'll cover a huge portion of the Southern chain stores for Mega-Mart. I heard Dad and Mr. Nichols talking about it in the backyard the other night."

  Becca points at the paper. "It's a pretty aggressive project. They're adding affordable housing and a new elementary school to try and attract people to the Radisson area."

  I keep reading. According to the reporter, the land originally belonged to a Mr. Charles Stogdon, who moved to Radisson from Buncombe County, North Carolina, in 1836. "Holy crap, 1836! That's a hell of a long time ago."

  "Good, you got to that part. Keep reading."

  My eyes dart right and left, taking in all of the words and loading them into my memory bank. Charles Stogdon was quite wealthy prior to the Civil War, and this land was part and parcel of a good chunk of the county that he owned. Somehow, the property came to be under the purview of the City of Radisson. Nothing's been done with the land—other than occasionally baling hay for local farmers—until this Mega-Mart venture.

  The hairs on my arm stand at attention, alerting me to my psychic sense picking up on—something. In my mind's eye, I pic ture a stodgy older man with a handlebar mustache, a dark hat, and a dark coat. He appears to be irritated about something, raising his fist high. I blink at the vision, and just like that, it's gone. Gone, but not forgotten.

  "I think we should look into this more. I mean, there's a connection to this project. Something tells me we'll find more of a link to this Charles Stogdon guy," I say.

  "You're reading my thoughts exactly, Moorehead," Becca says. "Then again, you are psychic."

  "Or so she says," I hear Jason say from behind me. This time, he punctuates it with a soft laugh and not his usual judgmental derision.

  "Hey," I say a bit too breathily. This causes Becca to roll her eyes.

  "What' chall doin'?" he asks, taking the seat next to me. He sits with his legs spread wide, so like a guy to take up as much space as he can, and the knee of his khakis touches mine. The sensation is almost more than I can stand.

  While I attempt to wrestle my rampant teenage hormones, Becca fills him in on our latest discovery. I can barely pay attention. Even though Jason is supposedly listening to all that Becca's telling him, underneath the table, his fingers weave into mine and his thumb strokes the space between my thumb and forefinger—wreaking complete and total havoc on my central nervous system.

  I don't move. I just surreptitiously hold his hand beneath the table as Becca finishes up the story of Charles Stogdon.

  She points at both of us. "I think you're right, Kendall. This Stogdon dude has something to do with all of this."

  Jason turns his head and shoots a grin my way. "We headed to city hall after school?"

  "You bet. We'll get the evidence and then go over to Celia's to review it."

  We. Yeah, I guess he's a part of this now.

  "Anything?" I ask Celia impatiently.

  She's seated at her desk, staring at the large computer monitor with four different camera angles displayed. Right after school she and Taylor retrieved the tapes from last night, and now we're all sitting around reviewing the evidence. Celia gnaws on a Twizzler and tugs the headphones off with one hand. "I told you, it takes time. Ghosts don't just perform on command."

  "I know. Sorry," I say. "I'm just anxious."

  Celia pats my leg. "'How poor are they that have not patience!'"

  "Thanks, Iago," I say with a smirk. "Make a short shrift, would you?"


  Celia threads her fingers through her hair. "Ah, but see, you've moved from Othello to Richard III and the transition isn't as you'd hoped. Short shrift is a confusing expression. Most people think it means 'quick work,' but in some reference sources, it means 'inadequate time.' Did you know that shrift really means 'confession'—like a priest shrives a person by tak ing confession and then giving them penance, like a Hail Mary or what have you? So, to literally 'make a short shrift,' you're making a confession."

  Taylor, Becca, and I scream out in unison, "Celia!"

  "Okay, okay. Geez. See if I try to educate you in the fine art of Shakespeare literature anymore." She takes another chaw off the Twizzler and then points at the screen in the upper left-hand corner. "I've seen a lot of orb activity and I'm noting the time on the footage. That tells me if there's something there, we're picking up its movement on the infrared cameras."

  "Excellent!" I look over to where Taylor's slide-showing through the digital images she took. "Anything from you?"

  "Some amazing digital photography, if I do say so myself," she says with complete confidence. She tosses her honey blond hair over her shoulder and purses her glossed lips. "Nothing substantial yet, but I still have a long way to go."

  My eyes shift over to where Jason's listening in with Becca as she sorts through the sound recordings we made throughout the night. He winks privately at me, and my skin warms. I'm frustrated because all I can do is ... watch. There's nothing for me to do at this point because everything is about the evidence we gathered. There are no assumptions or psychic feelings for me to conjure up that could help at this moment. I just have to wait until we can interpret the information that will help us once we go in for the full investigation on Friday night.

  Becca pulls her earbuds out. "I have an EVP for you to listen to."

  I stand over her as she cues up the .wav file. "Ooooooofffff muuuuuuuh lllllahhhnnn."

  Jason snickers. "You gotta be kidding me. That's nothing but a garbled mess."

  "Shhhh!" Becca snaps.

  "Play it again," Celia instructs.

  "Ooooooofffffff muuuuuuuh lllllahhhhhnnn."

  Celia concentrates hard. "Can you slow it down, Becca?"

  "Sure." Becca types in some strokes, ups the amplification, and plays it again.

  "Ooooooofffffff muuuuuuuh lllllahhhhhnnn."

  I stare at Celia as she deliberates the syllables. "Well?"

  She looks to Becca. "Are you hearing what I'm hearing? 'Off my land.'"

  Becca claps her hands together. "Snap! Exactly what I thought."

  "Off my land?" Jason asks. "What does it mean?"

  Easy, I think. "There's a disembodied voice in city hall that wants someone off its land."

  "Whooo-hoooo!" Taylor shouts, raising her fist up to the ceiling. "Damn, I'm good. I mean, really. I. Am. Good. Wait till y'all see what I got."

  We all gather around her, shouldering one another to get a look at the laptop screen.

  "What are we seeing?" Celia asks.

  Taylor shows us an image of the courtroom that's on the first floor in city hall. The yellowy paint of the room seems darker in the IR pictures. Two large tables with chairs are before the judge's bench. "I set the timer to record every ten seconds throughout the night. Mostly it's a bunch of nothing, until—"

  She clicks on a frame that reads out "01:18:30 a.m." that shows the same empty courtroom.

  "Now watch," she says. She taps the mouse on the arrow to go to the next photo, which reads "01:18:40 a.m." Ten seconds later. We all gasp in unison.

  "Toldja. I'm good, aren't I?" she says with a bright smile.

  Becca leans in more and bites her lip where her piercing is. "What the hell is that?"

  "No way." Jason tilts his head. "It looks like a man."

  "Phenomenal," Celia says and claps her hands.

  "It can't be a man," Becca says. "What's that?" She points at what looks like a long suit coat.

  "His clothes?" I ask.

  "Wait," Taylor says. "It gets better." The next frame is "01:18:50 a.m." and what do you know: he's gone!

  "It's trick photography," Jason says with a sneer.

  Taylor reaches over and punches him hard on the top of his arm. "Right. Because I was sitting in city hall by myself at one-flippin'-o'clock in the morning dressed in a costume and messing with my own camera!"

  Jason blocks her next blow. "I'm just saying—"

  Taylor throws her hands up. "God, Jason!"

  "You can't tell me that's not some sort of reflection or malfunction of the camera. That is the digital one Dad got you for Christmas two years ago, and it was cheap to begin with, so it probably has a scratch on the inside or something that caused that image."

  "A scratch that looks like a man?" I interject.

  "Ten seconds between frames is nothing. Anyone can run across the courtroom in under ten seconds," our skeptic continues.

  Celia frowns. "You can be sure we'll test it to see if that's possible."

  "It has to be," he says.

  "Shuffle through those again," Celia instructs. When Taylor does, we all stare at the images. One minute the man's not there, the next he is, and then he's gone again.

  "What are you thinking?" I ask Celia.

  "That we need to try and debunk that tomorrow night when we're doing our investigation," I say. "We need to see if a person can cross the room in ten seconds, in order to determine whether someone was doing that to throw us off. If it can't be done, then we've definitely got proof of a full-body apparition."

  "That's horseshit," Jason says with a snort.

  Becca speaks up. "Could this be that Charles Stogdon guy we were reading about today?"

  Celia squints. "Who?"

  "Oh, right," I say, and then fill her in. Then I remember the image of the man I'd seen in my thoughts during study hall. That picture sort of, kind of looks the same.

  Taylor enhances the picture to 200 percent to get a better look at our figure. "It looks like he's wearing a suit and has his fist raised."

  "Nice 'stache," Jason says.

  "Facial hair was very popular back then," Celia says in defense of our ghost.

  "Back when?"

  "He looks pissed," Becca notes, completely ignoring Jason's comment.

  Right. I, too, bite my lip. "I wonder if this is who attacked my father."

  Jason sits back and lets out a long sigh. "Okay, if you're gonna buy into this imaginary man, then I wonder if it's who attacked you."

  Celia's eyes enlarge. " What? When? What happened?"

  "Why didn't you tell us?" Taylor scowls.

  Becca doesn't seem bothered that I covered this up.

  I fill them in on how I almost took a header down the marble stairs but Jason had caught me.

  "Thank God for that," Taylor says, her hand to her heart. "Oh! Celia, rewind all the way back to the beginning of camera three. That's the top of the stairs and it may have captured Kendall when this happened."

  As I peer over Celia's shoulder, I realize that Taylor's video recording may have captured more than just my falling down. It may have documented the kiss. Cripes!

  "There." Taylor points. "That's right after I set up the camera."

  I watch as Jason and I climb the stairs together, stop, and then head off down the hallway. After a short while, we come back into view. "This was when Jason's temperature gauge registered a low reading and I was following this cool breeze down the hallway."

  The video shows me padding along the hall and stopping at the top of the banister.

  "Look!" Celia says. "On the back of your leg."

  Sure enough, there's a large, dense orb trailing down my jeans. Then, without any warning, my feet are literally swept out from under me and I start to fall.

  "Holy shit, Kendall!" Celia says. "There was something on you! Something did that to you."

  "I know!" I say.

  "Play it again," Taylor says. "See if you can zoom in on the orb."

  Celia does, and the rou
nd white spherical figure seems to have a depth or bulkiness to it.

  Jason leans his hand onto the desk and I see Celia taking note of his proximity. I hope she's not mad at me that I've let him join our group. I couldn't really stop him. And I didn't want to. She looks up at him as he asks, "Aren't orbs supposed to be dust or bugs?"

  "Do you recall any giant moths or anything swooping around when we were walking down the hall?" I ask a bit snarkily.

  "No. You're right. But still. That couldn't have just upended you like that. Maybe you tripped."

  "The video doesn't show her tripping," Celia says.

  I place my hands on my hips. "You were right there with me, Jason."

  "I know. I can't believe that a globe of light did that. It makes no sense, and quite frankly, it seems asinine to even suggest it was responsible."

  "So you're an expert now?" I ask.

  "No, I'm just saying—"

  Because we're arguing over what had or hadn't happened there at the top of the stairs, we fail to stop the videotape. I don't even think about it until I hear Celia nearly shriek.

  I spin around. "What is it now?"

  She points to the screen and her mouth falls open. Taylor's blue eyes dilate, and Becca just laughs. For on the screen is the very vivid image of Jason and me completely macking on each other.

  I wince. "Oh, shit."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "THAT'S HOT," REBECCA SAYS, gazing at the tape of the kiss.

  Celia seems like she's going to cry. "How could you?" Utter disappointment is painted in hi-def colors across her face. Or maybe I've just learned to read auras all of a sudden. Suffice it to say, she's not happy with me. "I thought you were serious about this, Kendall."

  "I am!"

  She points at the screen where Jason and I are now kissing on a loop. "Yeah, right. You can't be serious about your gifts and using them to ghost hunt if you're making out with a member of the team."

  Jason stands to defend me. At least, I hope that's what he's doing. "Look, it just sort of happened, okay? You know how it goes."

  Fixing her glare on him, Celia says, "No, I don't!"

  Taylor's usually sunny disposition morphs into downright disgust. "You're just a big fake, Kendall Moorehead. You drummed all of this up to be friends with me so you could get at my brother." She lasers her eyes at Jason. "Ever since you and Courtney Langdon broke up, girls at school want to be buddy-buddy with me to get an in with you. Well, I'm not going to be a part of this anymore."