Betwixt

by Melissa Pearl

  I run my hand along the wall, trying really hard to stop my fingers going through. I feel nothing and scowl as my digits pass through a painting.

  "So this is my room." Dale opens his door.

  I walk in and am once again hit by the warmth.

  I wonder if my mom sold them this house. It's so not her style, but knowing her she would have chucked that warmth word in numerous times.

  There's a double bed in the corner of the room with a bright green duvet. It's quite over powering, but I resist the urge to comment. It's his room, not mine. Dale dumps his bag next to his desk and scans the shelf above it.

  "What are you looking for?"

  "When we first moved here, Dad bought me a map book of the area. We highlighted a bunch of hiking trails we wanted to do."

  "And let me guess, you haven't done any of them."

  Dale looks at me with surprise. "No, we've done about eight so far."

  "Oh." I run my fingers through my hair and turn away, feeling stupid.

  "Here it is." He pulls it out and flicks through the pages. "Okay, so this is where we drove today." He rummages through his desk for a highlighter and crosses out the section of the road we drove on. "So maybe tomorrow I can get up early and we can do this section before school."

  I look over his shoulder. "You'd have to get up pretty damn early."

  "I know." He nods. "I just can't play hooky. I'm really sorry, but..."

  His face bunches with regret.

  "I'm not asking you to play hooky." The words come out a little snappier than I mean them to. I guess it just bugs me that he assumes I think skipping out of school is something I never put any thought into. What he will never know is that I've never missed a day of school when I've had an important test and I've never once handed in an assignment late. My hooky days always coincide with the days I can't bear facing the student population. I invite Amber because she's too self-absorbed to notice my moods.

  "Should I be calling the police?" Dale's question makes me turn to face him.

  "I don't think they take these kinds of cases seriously for at least 48 hours."

  "Maybe the sheriff can help us."

  "Sheriff Hutton?" I shake my head and start scanning his room. "I doubt it. He tends to be a stickler for the rules."

  "What if I tell him what I know."

  I bob down to peruse Dale's book collection. "He'll wonder how you know this stuff. You can't tell him you can hear me. Everyone will think you're crazy."

  "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

  I stand up and face him, loving the fact he wants to try so hard.

  "You need food and sleep, Dale. You're no use to me starving and hungry." I keep my voice as casual as I can. I'm right. I'm being sensible. There's nothing more we can do right now.

  Fear coils in my belly.

  I try to ward it off with distraction and move to Dale's second bookshelf. Man, this guy sure likes to read.

  "You have some good titles here," I murmur.

  "Yeah, well reading's good for the brain." He steps towards my voice.

  I glide past him and move to his desk. It's in disarray with piles of books surrounding his computer. I notice a huge stack of pages in a neat pile and lean over to see what they are.

  The Trojan's Secret by Dale Finnigan

  "I didn't know you liked writing?"

  "Uh," Dale nervously jumps towards his desk. "Don't read that."

  "Why not?"

  "It's not finished." He picks up the one of his textbooks and covers the first page.

  "Fine." I cross my arms and mumble, "Spoil sport," as I turn away.

  "It's just that I-"

  "Who's the older woman, Mr. Cougar Hunter?" I lean down to inspect the photo I've just spotted. Dale has his arm around a gorgeous woman with dark curls and a beaming smile.

  Dale steps up beside me. "Firstly gross and secondly, she's my sister, Rachel."

  "Really? How old is she?"

  "Thirty." He picks up the photo next to it. "These are her kids Emma and Tim."

  I gaze at the three impish grins in the picture. Dale is holding his two ice-cream covered relations. "Look at your face - the proud uncle."

  "I can't help it. They are two cutie-pies."

  "I can't believe you're an Uncle Dale."

  "Yeah, well, Unky Dee at this stage."

  He blushes red while returning the picture to its rightful place.

  "So..." I look to my feet then casually shrug. "How old's your mom?"

  Dale shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away from me.

  "What, you're not going to tell me?"

  "Look my parents are awesome, okay." He spins back to face me. "I don't need you spreading gossip about them."

  "I wouldn't!" I try to ignore his dry look, but it's hard to miss. I huff. "You don't trust me."

  He shrugs. "Why should I?"

  I open my mouth with a sharp response, but I'm interrupted by a black labrador that bursts through the door with a happy bark. I yelp and jump back.

  Dale laughs.

  "It's okay, he won't hurt a fly."

  I dubiously move to the edge of the room, grateful the jumping mutt can't see me. His slobbery tongue is hanging out of his mouth in ecstasy as Dale rubs behind his ears. All of a sudden the dog's nose twitches and springs into the air, sniffing loudly.

  "What is it, boy?"

  The dog hunches down and starts sniffing the carpet, weaving its way across the room until it's at my feet.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" I yell at the dog.

  He sniffs around my ankles then starts working his way up my legs until his nose is in my crotch.

  "GET out of there!" I try to slap the dog away. "Dale! A little help!"

  "Wow." Dale stands back in awe. "That's amazing."

  I try to wiggle away from the dog. "What's amazing? The fact your stupid dog can't stop sniffing my crotch?"

  "Jess, come here, boy." Dale slaps his thigh. "Jester. C'mere."

  After a few more requests, spurted out between bursts of laughter, Dale's dog finally does as he's told.

  I brush off my jeans with a shaky hand and raise my body with as much dignity as I can.

  "Sorry about that." Dale simpers.

  "I'm sure you are." I cross my arms.

  "It's pretty amazing that he can sense you though. I wonder why."

  "Look, who knows. Just keep him out of my crotch, okay."

  "Yes, ma'am." Dale nods, fighting to keep his lips from popping back into a smile.

  Rolling my eyes, I relent with a small smile he can't see. Stepping closer, I hold out my hand and let Jester sniff my fingertips. He starts licking air. This is too bizarre.

  "I don't understand how he can sense me."

  "Life's mysterious."

  "That's your answer?"

  Dale shrugs.

  "Sometimes we just have to accept the fact we can't explain everything. Life happens, whether we want it to or not and we don't always have a reason why. Our job is to try and make some good come out of it."

  I have a feeling he's referring to Jody, so I clear my throat and change the subject.

  "Why'd you call him Jester?"

  Kneeling down, Dale gives his dog another rub behind the ears.

  "At the time I got him, he was the only thing that could make me laugh. Jester seemed the perfect name."

  "What happened to you?"

  Dale gives his dog a final pat and stands.

  "Is it to do with your scar?"

  He doesn't look at me.

  "Is the knife fight rumor true?"

  Dale grins.

  "Falling through a glass door? Cycling accident? How about the one where you're surfing on a reef?"

  He gives me a pitiful look.

  "Okay, fine just tell me then. How'd you get the scar?"

  Shaking his head, he turns to his desk and starts rifling through some pages.

  "Come on. You know all about my past."

  "Do I?" He
turns.

  I scowl at his open expression then look to the ground.

  "Okay, fine, don't tell me." I look up with a sniff. "I don't care anyway."

  "Dale! Dinner's ready!"

  He shoots me one last disbelieving look before walking out the door.

  I stomp down the stairs behind him, annoyed he's being so secretive. It's so completely unfair. Thanks to his interrogation of Adam, he now knows about Jody. The least he can do is tell me why he looks like Frankenstein.

  I wince; glad I'm not talking out loud.

  Dale takes a seat at the table, opposite his parents. His Dad gives him a friendly smile and asks how he's doing. They share a quick joke I don't understand then hold hands and say grace.

  Holding hands around the table? Awkward.

  "Amen," they all say in unison then smile at each other.

  Dude, we're like five shy of the Brady Bunch here.

  I lean against the wall and watch as Dale's Dad, what's his name again?

  "Charles, can you pass the pepper please?"

  That's right.

  He hands his wife - Mary? Yeah, I think it's Mary - the pepper and gives her a private smile. Man, they look so in love it's sickening. I mean, ewww. How old are these people?

  I ignore the thought that my parents used to look at each other that way and instead return my attention to the fact Dale is being a stubborn ass. I can't believe he doesn't trust me. After all we've been through today.

  I cross my arms and shoot him a few death glares, but he's oblivious.

  "So, Dale, how are you getting on with Mr. Moffat?"

  "Yeah, okay." Dale nods.

  "Okay? I was sitting next to you for half the class and you didn't take one note," I call across the room.

  Dale's shoulders tense and he shoots his parents a close mouthed smile. My eyes narrow. Stepping towards the table, I decide to play the bitch everyone knows me for.

  Squatting down beside the Finnigans, I do my best to throw a squirm jamboree for my untrusting companion.

  "Actually Mr. and Mrs. Finningan, your son is probably failing physics."

  Dale shovels a fork full of rice into his mouth and glares in the direction of my voice.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if he gets a big, fat F on his transcript." I grimace. "Not so great for college apps, am I right?"

  Leaning forward, Dale clears his throat and shuffles in his chair.

  "If I were you, I'd be asking to see his school work, because if the amount of notes he took today were anything to go by, he might not be doing so well in other areas either."

  The fork drops from Dale's hand and in spite of the fact he can't see me, he manages to aim a black glare right in my direction.

  "Dale, sweetie, are you okay?"

  He holds his breath for a beat, then shakes his head.

  "No, actually. I need to tell you guys something."

  "What are you doing?"

  I step back from the table as his parents both lean forward, looking concerned.

  "The truth is..."

  "Are you insane, right now? They won't believe you can hear a ghost!"

  He sighs.

  "I think I'm failing physics."

  Confusion stunts my next statement.

  Mrs. Finnigan looks disappointed and Mr. Finnigan leans back with a thoughtful expression.

  "Bummer," he eventually says.

  "Yeah, I know, Dad. I'm really sorry, but I just... I really hate it and don't understand what Mr. Moffat is talking about half the time. I just don't think I can do well this year."

  "But you're doing so well in everything else."

  "Yeah, well Biology's a little hard, but I love my other subjects."

  Mrs. Finnigan's lips bunch together, and then she looks at her husband. They have one of those silent conversations that only married couples seem capable of.

  "We talked about you studying a range of subjects this year."

  "I know, but I don't enjoy it. I want to transfer out of the class and do something I'll excel in."

  Like they're ever going to let that happen.

  The couple finish their silent conversation then look to Dale.

  "Okay, well I'm open to discussing that."

  What?

  "We're really sorry it's not working out."

  "Yeah, well I should have been up front from the start. I never wanted to take Physics."

  "Then why did you?"

  "Because I wanted to make you guys... proud."

  "Oh sweetie." Mrs. Finnigan reaches across the table and grabs Dale's hand. "We'll always be proud of you and you know, your honesty right now is just making us prouder. We love you, kiddo."

  Their conversation continues as they discuss other subjects that Dale might take. Their voices turn to static noise as I lean against the wall.

  My eyes burn with unwelcome tears.

  We love you, kiddo.

  I can't remember the last time someone told me they loved me and they're just saying it like it's an everyday occurrence.

  I notice Dale look over his shoulder. He slowly searches the room as he nods at his parents' comments.

  He's looking for me.

  I should call out and tell him where I am, but I can't.

  Instead I creep out of the room.

  The kitchen door is ajar, I squeeze through it, cross the road diagonally and turn down Piney Lane. A few hundred yards later, I'm walking around the back of my house and climbing the stairs. Mom always leaves the bathroom window open. I have no idea how I'm supposed to actually climb through it. I stand outside and look at the narrow gap. I might be able to fit through it... but with hands as dense as smoke, I have no idea how I'll grip the frame to pull myself up.

  I let out an irate huff. I can't work this stupid ghost thing out. My feet seem capable of walking on solid surfaces and my butt seems capable of sitting on any kind of seat, so why do my hands glide through everything? Maybe it's a mind over matter type thing.

  My eyes narrow as I study the window and will myself to believe it is a solid object that no part of my body can fall through. I decide that the faster I do this, the less thought will be involved. Taking a breath, I launch myself towards the window, my foot lands on the sill as my hands touch the frame.

  Of course my brain then decides to remind me that this is all just ridiculous and my hands fly straight through the glass followed by the rest of my body. I land in a heap on the tiled floor. Jumping up, I do a little heebie-jeebies dance. I whirl back to look at the window, shudder once more then make my way through the house. It's cold, dark and silent.

  I step into my room and look around my pristine belongings. My bookshelf is neatly lined with untouched books, the clothes are neatly folded into every draw or hung neatly on every hanger. My subtle bedspread is pulled tight to perfection... just the way I like it.

  I frown.

  Everything feels cold. Cold and gloomy.

  Spinning on my heel, I descend the stairs to the living room and force myself not to look out the window. There's a light on in the kitchen. I follow the amber glow and stumble across my mother. She's sitting at the kitchen counter, picking at a microwave meal.

  "Mom?"

  I step in front of her. She's in zombie mode again. Her fork is poised just above her food. It's like she knows she needs to eat, but can't quite make herself do it.

  I look at the clock on the stove. 6.50pm. Dad is nearly an hour late, what else is new?

  My mother blinks and finally comes to. She looks at the clock and huffs, throwing her fork into her bowl and stepping away from the counter. With practiced efficiency she goes to the cupboard and grabs a large wine glass. She selects a bottle, pops the cork and pours herself a huge glass. It's gone after four big swigs.

  "Whoa, Mom."

  She pours another glass and slaps the bottle on the counter. She goes to guzzle it then stops and gently places it down. A sudden sob spurts out of her mouth as she dips her head. Her blond locks fall over her face and her
shoulders shake.

  "Don't cry," I whisper.

  She doesn't hear me and the sobs keep coming out of her, slow and pitiful.

  I back away. I can't be here. I can't watch this again.

  Stumbling out of the room, I run to the bathroom and fall back through the window. I don't even care. All I want right now is yummy warmth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The kitchen door is closed when I return to the Finnigan's home. I curse then walk around the side of the house looking for another way in. I can see Dale's window is wide open. I wonder if he's left it like that for me.

  Does he think I can freaking fly?

  I kick the rock at my foot and watch my boot whoosh through it.

  This sucks.

  I'm about to slump to the ground when the front door opens.

  "You don't need to worry, Mary. He's being honest with us, that's the most important thing."

  "I just want him to be happy. I don't want a repeat of-"

  Mr. Finnigan places his finger gently on his wife's lips.

  "That will never happen again. Don't be afraid. We have to trust him now."

  She gives him a soft smile.

  "I know."

  With a tender gaze, Mr. Finnigan leans down and kisses his wife. I take my chance and crawl past them and through the front door. I'm sure I end up pulling my hips through their legs. They both seem to shiver as they step away from each other.

  "Have fun."

  "I will. This couple are fantastic. So suited. These pre-marriage sessions have been great."

  "Only one month 'til the wedding. I can't believe it."

  Mr. Finnigan gives her a grin.

  "Can't wait to marry them."

  "Bye sweetie. Love you."

  "You too, babe. Home soon."

  I watch them exchange one last adoring look before scampering up the stairs.

  "I didn't know your Dad was a minister."

  Dale jumps a mile as I walk through his open doorway.

  Dropping his head in his hands, he mumbles something about whether or not his heart will be able to survive this then looks up at me.

  "He's not anymore. He does counselling, funerals, weddings, stuff like that."

  He sits back in his chair with a sigh and rubs his eyes.