Manifest

by Artist Arthur

  Jake looks like he is processing the information, too. “And what, she killed him?”

  Sasha shakes her head. “Nope. Antoine said Trina went missing before Ricky died. Somebody saw them fighting and then Trina was gone.”

  “Gone like dead?”

  Sasha shrugs. “Gone like gone. I don’t know. That’s all I could get from him before he started getting too close.”

  I take a bite of my sandwich and let the food move around in my mouth for a few seconds before attempting to swallow. I wonder if it’d threaten to get stuck like that pizza did. But as I continue to chew and breathe it doesn’t, it just slides down my throat like it is supposed to.

  “Gone like dead,” I say when the food is finally down and I don’t feel like it’s going to come back up.

  I can feel their stares on me and reluctantly look up. Accepting it, waiting for the onslaught of questions that will follow.

  “How do you know?”

  “Have you seen her, too?”

  “Did Ricky kill her?”

  I hate when they tag-team question me. “Yeah, I saw her. I don’t think he killed her.” Then again, I don’t know. I don’t know much about Ricky or his girlfriend.

  What I do know is that I want to talk to Ricky again, to ask him some of these questions for myself.

  “So what else happened that has you so ticked off with Twan?” I change the subject.

  A neatly arched brow lifts. “Twan?”

  I shrug. “That’s what Ricky calls him.”

  Sasha rolls her eyes sideways, determined not to look at me. Or Jake either, for that matter. Instead she glances over to the table where Twan is sitting. Something is definitely going on there, something I am sure she isn’t going to be up front about. Which is probably okay considering all the little tidbits of info I’m keeping from them.

  “They’re just a callous bunch of thugs. They don’t care who they hurt.”

  “Did he hurt you?” I ask. Concern for Sasha is quick, natural and new to me.

  She shakes her head. “No. Not me. Not him. I just mean I didn’t really feel comfortable being with him. I mean, with that group.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about. I guess I sort of get what she’s saying but she’s being rather cryptic. I open my mouth to say something else but Jake shakes his head as if warning me to let it go.

  “Well, Ricky was definitely down with them. For how long and what role did he play with them?” Jake asks.

  Sasha hunches her shoulders. “I don’t know. Like I said, he wasn’t really into giving me a lot of information about Ricky. More like trying to get in my pants. The creep!”

  So that’s what has her all out of sorts. Twan was trying to get with her instead of giving information. I almost repeat what she told me yesterday about going along and playing like I want to get with Franklin the way he wants to get with me. But I stop and ask myself why a girl who looks like Sasha, with long pretty hair, pretty eyes, the stylish clothes and the curvy little figure, isn’t automatically pleased with the fact that yet another guy is trying to get with her. Then it hits me. A girl like Sasha—a Richie—and a boy like Twan, a hip-hopper who probably gets into more trouble than he gets good grades. Only I don’t think Sasha is into all that social status stuff.

  “What I do know is that they’re not, like, a gang or anything. Just a group of guys who grew up together and stick together because nobody understands them. That’s what Antoine says. You’d just think they’d grow up and start doing something more useful with their time.” Then she turns, her eyes perking up just a bit. “I also know they have something deep to talk about tomorrow night.”

  “Deep? Like what?” Jake asks.

  “Tomorrow night he said they’re going to meet in the music room during basketball practice. I only got that info from him when he was trying to figure out what night I’d be available to spend with him. He quickly ruled that out.”

  “Cool.” Jake is nodding his head. “I say we should definitely be there.”

  Sasha and I both look at him quizzically.

  “What?”

  “We should be there. Find out what’s so important, what’s going on with them. The only way we’re going to get close to what may have happened to Ricky is to get close to those he was tight with.”

  “Has he given you any details about his death?”

  I shake my head no because in the two weeks that Ricky’s been asking for my help, he’s yet to actually tell me about his murder. And for the first time in those two weeks, I’m thinking how strange that is.

  “We haven’t really talked about that.”

  Tilting her head, Sasha glares at me. “What do you mean, you haven’t talked about that? You’ve been talking to a ghost, he asks you for your help but you haven’t talked about his death? What do you two talk about?”

  Okay, first of all I really don’t think it’s any of her business what I talk about with anybody, living or dead, besides her and Jake. Still I get the idea of why she asked and I see where she’s going with the conversation. It’s not making me very comfortable—then again, being around Sasha usually doesn’t.

  “We just talk about stuff,” I say, knowing that’s not going to be enough. So I instantly take a deep follow-up breath and prepare to go into that “stuff” a little further.

  “Okay, look, we’re all in this together so any information you’ve got about your little ghost friend, his club, his death, whatever, spill.”

  Drumming my fingers on the table, I simply shake my head. Sometimes this girl really irks me. “After I first accepted that I was actually talking to a spirit, we just kind of talked about basic stuff. Who he is, what his problem is. You know, stuff like that.”

  “And that’s all?” Skeptical should have been her middle name. “How many times have you and he talked about just basic stuff?”

  “Just a couple.”

  Then I think about my dream where I woke up in the cemetery right next to Ricky’s tombstone and I wonder if that has any importance on what we’re doing. “I know where he’s buried,” I blurt without thinking.

  “Well, yeah, there’s only one cemetery in Lincoln,” Sasha informs me.

  Then Jake chimes in, “You’ve been to the cemetery to see his grave?”

  I shake my head. “It was in my dream. I ah—” Not really wanting to go into the part of the dream where I’m reliving the way my mother snatched me from New York and dropped me here, I stall for a few seconds. “It’s like I’m running, either from something or toward something. I never figure it out. And then I fall. When I get up I’m right in front of Ricky’s grave. I try to get away and I run into…that same black fog,” I say. “Like that’s where I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to see. Odd.”

  “Not odd. Maybe it’s just a clue.”

  I agree with Jake because it is safer to do so than to explain why I was having the whacky dream in the first place.

  “You know how he died?”

  “I think he was shot,” Sasha says.

  Jake nods. “Yeah. I think I remember something like that. They found his body in that alley behind the school.”

  “So he was shot here in school?”

  “It was, like, after school hours so I don’t really remember if he was shot during schooltime or what, but I think that’s where they found his body.”

  “Do you think you could get more information? More clues to kind of figure out which direction we should be looking?” Sasha asks and I want to pick up on the sarcasm in her voice. I want to have a reason to snap back at her, but I really don’t. Because in a way she is right. If I am the medium and we are supposed to be finding out what really happened to the spirit, then I should have more clues. After all, Jake and Sasha can’t ask him what the hell happened. Only I can do that. And if I am going to be in this Mystyx thing for the long haul, I should definitely do my part. And I planned to do just that, only I don’t think I have to tell them everything right at this minute.
Aside from that, I usually just waited for Ricky to appear and start talking to me. I’m not sure if I can actually call him and talk to him, like if there is some sort of ghost GPS I can use to get in touch with him.

  “I’ll ask,” I say finally. “And I’ll get back to you guys.”

  Sasha nods. “We need some sort of meeting place.”

  “You mean like a clubhouse?” Jake asks.

  “We’re not elementary schoolers,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes. Then as if she finally realizes how bitchy she’s being today, Sasha takes a deep breath. Using her fingers she rubs her temples and puts her head down like she is just too through. I am so tempted to ask her what else is going on because in that moment I know there has to be something above and beyond this Mystyx thing or even the fact that a skuzzy guy was trying to get with her. I don’t know how I know, I just do.

  “We can meet at my house,” she says. Her voice sounds all grumbly because her head’s down on the table.

  Now it’s me and Jake’s turn to just look at each other. Then I presume that he’s too nervous to say something so I say it.

  “What did you say?”

  Sasha lifts her head slowly. “We can meet at my house. I mean, at my pool house. That way my parents won’t be all in our business. Say, tonight around six-thirty. I’ve got somewhere to go right after school but I’ll be back home by then.”

  Well, it is obvious that she isn’t going to tell us where she has to go after school. And I guess I really shouldn’t care. So I just shrug. “Sure, that sounds fine.”

  Jake asks, “You think you’ll talk to Ricky by then?”

  I don’t know. Unlike what is called a necromancer, I don’t have the power to actually wake or call the dead—or at least I don’t think so. I just figure they can talk to me and I can hear them. But maybe…maybe if I go to Ricky’s home (so to speak), knock on the door and ask for him, he’ll appear. Huh, it can’t be that easy.

  Then again, maybe it isn’t that hard.

  nineteen

  Dreaming about being in the cemetery is one thing. Actually purposefully creeping into the cemetery, walking past the different sized and designed headstones, searching for someone in particular, is a whole other realm of freakiness.

  Lincoln Memorial Gardens is located a couple blocks from Main Street, right on the corner of the United Presbyterian Church. It’s not as big as some cemeteries I’ve seen, but it’s big enough. Walking through the cast-iron gates is a little different from the last time I think I was here. In the dream I’d just appeared in front of Ricky’s grave. Now, I’ll have to walk through the maze of headstones to find it.

  Or do I?

  I am already through the gates and heading in the direction I think I should start when I stop. I have the power to see, hear and communicate with spirits of the afterlife. Could there be something more? What if I could call to other beings, somehow communicate in their realm? Well, there is certainly no harm in trying.

  Searching my mind for all the stuff I’d read online about mediums and the afterlife, I begin to relax myself. Standing perfectly still, I close my eyes and think about Ricky. He’s the spirit I want to contact, the one I need to speak to, so I figure he should be the one to think about.

  For endless moments I stand there in the fading sunlight and breezeless afternoon. Actually, it had looked a little cloudy as I’d approached the cemetery…but that is getting off track. I need to concentrate for this to work. I think.

  I picture Ricky again, his chocolate-brown complexion and dark pensive eyes. I think about his long arms that more often than not are folded across his chest and those heavy boots he wears that never seem to be tied tightly. My heart stumbles as I hear his laughter as clearly as if he’s standing right beside me. But I don’t open my eyes to see if that’s true, something inside tells me not to. To keep the link open and alive.

  So I keep my breaths steady, in and out, in and out.

  Krystal.

  The sound of my name interrupts Ricky’s laughter and then a soft breeze sweeps across my face. At my sides my fingers are clenching and unclenching. I want to run because the voice calling my name doesn’t sound like Ricky. But again, something keeps me still, keeps my eyes closed and my mind focused. Something that I don’t think I’m controlling.

  Come to me, Krystal.

  The voice is calling me, asking me to come. I guess I should listen since I am trying to contact a spirit and it seems as though I have. Only this isn’t the spirit I want.

  Opening my eyes slowly, I see that the clouds that had only begun coming in as I entered the cemetery now occupy the entire sky. The once sunny day is now gray and overcast. I had been walking toward the right side of the cemetery but instinct tells me the voice calling is coming from the left. So I take a step in that direction. Then another and another and then I see him.

  As if he dropped right out of the sky, Ricky appears in front of me. I jump back, screaming and holding a hand over my thumping heart.

  “Jeez! You scared the hell out of me.”

  He laughs. I doubt that, Krystal. You don’t seem like you have a lot of hell in you to start with.

  I’m trying to calm my racing heart and shaking my head at him at the same time. “Whatever. Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you.”

  He shakes his head. You can’t call me.

  “I did. I focused on you and I felt you answer,” I say, all proud of myself for learning how to use a part of this power I had. “But then—” I start to say but he’s still shaking his head, cutting me off.

  I’m not there yet so I can’t hear you calling me.

  I blink, clearly confused. “Then how did you know I was here?”

  You’re my connection to the living world. I can always find you.

  Okay, that makes sense. “I just can’t call you?”

  Not until I cross over. That’s what Trina says.

  “So, I could call Trina if I want?”

  He shrugs. I guess, but why would you want to call her?

  I think about the picture on my phone and wonder if I should call her to ask her why she was crazy enough to take a naked photo of herself. Or why she’d let somebody else take it. Either way, I don’t know anybody who would send it to me.

  Maybe Ricky knows.

  How’d your visit with your shrink go?

  He’d started walking and I just fell into step behind him, not real sure where we’re going. Since we are in a cemetery, where the dead and probably undead hang out, anywhere we go isn’t going to be very exciting.

  “I don’t need a shrink,” I say, instantly defensive.

  Nah, I don’t think you do either. I just think you need to snap out of this doom-and-gloom world you’re determined to walk in. But that can be done without your mother kickin’ out a bunch of money to some crazy doctor.

  “I agree,” I say and surprise myself by really believing what he’d just said. Then I look at him, I mean really look at him, and realize something—he’s transparent, like Trina and the crying girl at school, but he doesn’t have that glow around him that they do. “So, where’ve you been? I thought you needed my help, but then you go and disappear. And why were you in the library spying on me and Franklin? That was so uncool. Plus, were you at the school today?”

  He turns and then chuckles a bit. Hold up, what’s this, like fifty questions or something? First off, no, I wasn’t at the school today. Did you see me there? And second, why are you hanging out with that clown Franklin? You wanna talk about “uncool,” he’s definitely it.

  “Franklin’s a nice guy. Besides, it’s none of your business who I hang out with.” I guess that could go both ways, so my little jealous tiffs about him and Trina should be dismissed.

  Like I said, he’s a clown. Plus he doesn’t even know how to step to you right.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, then wave my hand to dismiss the question. “Never mind. Me and Franklin are none of your business.”

  He shrugs a
gain. Whatever you say. So what, you were looking for me?

  “Yeah, I guess I was.”

  And you thought you’d find me in the graveyard because I’m supposed to be dead.

  “No, actually I remember reading that spirits frequent the cemetery. It’s one of the few places they’re totally comfortable. It made sense, so I came. And here you are.”

  Because I was looking for you.

  “Really? Why?”

  But before he can answer me my cell phone chirps. I have a text message. Digging it out of my purse, I press the button and gasp as the pictures immediately appear. It’s not just one this time, but a couple of them, saved one after another. I’m using the little ball on my phone to scroll down and down and down until finally the last picture is revealed. One of Trina and another girl. It takes me a second or so—during which time Ricky is calling my name like he thinks I can’t hear. I’m staring at the final picture not only because Trina is once again naked, lying on a bed with a really sleepy look on her face, but because of the girl. The one sprawled on the bed next to Trina, just as naked as Trina, her white skin a stark contrast to Trina’s cocoa brown. Both of them have a similar glazed look in their eyes and slack look of the mouth, but that’s where the similarities end. Not that I am searching for similarities, more like recognition I’d say. And damn if I don’t find it.

  The other girl in the picture with Trina is crying girl from the equipment room in school.

  “Are you doing this?” I blurt out. “Did you take these pictures? Why are you sending them to me?” I take a step and thrust the phone toward Ricky. Obviously he can’t take it into his hands but he does look down at the screen so I start to move the scroll ball upward so he can see all of them.

  “I got one yesterday, too, and wondered who could be sending it. Is it you?”

  He snaps, Last I checked there were no cell phones in the afterlife.

  I start to respond with a similarly smart remark but the look on his face has me pausing. He looks mad. No, he looks pissed the hell off! His thick brows have kind of knotted across his forehead, his semi-thick lips are smoothed to a thin line and at his sides his fists are clenched, looking like something I wouldn’t want to run across in a dark alley.