Brighter, a supernatural thriller

by V. J. Chambers

  "What's up, Ramona?" she said to the phone.

  "I need to tell you something," Ramona said.

  Ramona sounded upset. Lately, Ramona only called her when she was upset. They never did anything fun together anymore. "Hey," said Heather. "Why don't you come see me? We could hang out. Rick built this neat patio on the back of our house and I set up—"

  "I can't. I'm totally hung over. I think getting in a car would make me throw up," said Ramona.

  Ramona never came to visit her. She didn't like to leave Elston. She didn't like to go anywhere that wasn't walking distance from her apartment. Heather knew this because Ramona said it a lot. Not in conjunction with visiting Heather, but in reference to anything else, like, "I was going to go see that movie, but I don't like to leave Elston. I don't like to go anywhere that's not in walking distance of my apartment."

  Heather sighed. "Okay. That's cool. What about next weekend, then?"

  "Maybe," said Ramona. "I'll call you okay?"

  "Okay," said Heather, knowing there was about as much chance of Ramona calling her to come over as there were cows flying over the moon. "Cool. Sorry I interrupted you. What did you want to tell me?"

  "I think I saw a ghost," said Ramona.

  Heather sat up straight in her chair. "A ghost? Of who?"

  Ramona began to tell her about seeing Angelica after she was already dead. Heather listened intently. When Ramona was finished, Heather was quiet for a couple seconds. Then she said, "Are you jerking me around?"

  "No!" said Ramona.

  "Why didn't you tell me this before?" asked Heather.

  "I should have," said Ramona. "You're into ghosts and all."

  Ramona always said it like that. Heather was "into ghosts." Like it was a band or something. "I'm interested in paranormal phenomena," said Heather. "That doesn't necessarily mean ghosts."

  "You know what I meant," said Ramona. "But I didn't tell anyone. I just kind of wanted to forget it happened. But then last night I had a conversation with Garrett Hillard." Ramona paused, as if waiting for Heather to say something.

  "I don't think I know him," said Heather.

  "The guy who raped Blair? The guy Zane, Ben, and Owen kicked out of town?"

  "Owen who works at the coffee shop?"

  "Yes."

  "Sorry. I never heard of this Garrett guy. But if he's a rapist, why were you talking with him?" Heather asked.

  "I don't think he's really a rapist," said Ramona. "Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I told him about seeing Angelica. I don't know why. But since I did, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. And then I saw him again today, and he was totally rude to me, and I don't know why—"

  "Maybe he's a jerk?"

  Ramona sighed. "I don't think so, Heather," she said. Heather could tell Ramona was rolling her eyes.

  Sure. Whatever. "Why are you telling me this?" Heather said.

  "I want your help," said Ramona. "I want to know why I saw her."

  "Have you seen her again?"

  "No. It was only the one time."

  "It's probably an isolated incident then. Angelica had just died when you saw her, and her spirit might have been disoriented. Unsure of where it needed to go, it may have returned to the apartment in an attempt to find a sense of normalcy. Or maybe, because Angelica's death was so violent, the spirit didn't understand that it was dead yet."

  "That can happen?"

  "It's a theory. I don't know. But unless she starts appearing to you regularly, you aren't being haunted."

  "So you don't think that it meant something? You don't think maybe she was trying to tell me something?"

  "I don't know. All she did was ask if you wanted a light, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "I think if she'd wanted to tell you something, she would have."

  "But you don't think I'm crazy? You don't think I'm a liar?"

  "No. I think you're fine. I think if you'd stop worrying about everything for three seconds, you'd see that."

  "Okay," said Ramona. "Thanks. You're the best."

  "Call me about this weekend. You promise?"

  "Promise," said Ramona.

  * * *

  Ramona said her goodbyes and hung up her phone, knowing there was as good a chance she'd call Heather about the weekend as there was she'd actually apply to some grad schools. She just didn't like to leave Elston. Sometimes, she felt like when she drove out of the city limits, she burst through an invisible bubble. Things were different out there. People were in favor of the war on terror, and they wore camouflage, and some of them had never let go of the mullet. Nobody was like that in Elston. It was a Mecca of freethinkers.

  Ramona wished Heather had had more to say about Garrett, or had at least let her finish explaining who Garrett was and what he had done. Ramona picked up the library books she'd checked out earlier. She opened the flap and stared at the card Garrett had placed in the cardholder. He hadn't said a thing to her. He was so rude. Not that she cared. Well. Not really. It was just that the thing with Mason was a lost cause, and Garrett was really kind of cute. And...she didn't know. Maybe there was something delicious about the whole idea of dating a bad boy. A real bad boy. One that had been kicked out of town and everything. The card was stamped with the date she was supposed to return the book and...

  That was weird. Had Garrett written something on the card? She pulled it out of its holder. Scrawled across the bottom in pencil were the words, "I thought I saw Blair die."

  * * *

  Ramona burst into the library, strode to the librarian's desk, and slapped the due date card down in front of Garrett. "What did you mean by this?" she demanded.

  It was early morning. The library had just opened a few minutes ago, and Ramona was on her way to work.

  Garrett stared at her wordlessly, his jaw hanging open. Finally, he shook his head. "Need coffee," he mumbled. "If you're going to be that loud, I need coffee."

  Ramona slapped her hand down on the card again. "Seriously. What did you mean?"

  Garrett looked down at the due date card. "If I had written something on this card—and I'm by no means saying that I did—the fact that I did so might have indicated to you that it wasn't something I wanted to discuss out loud in the library."

  Oh. Duh. Ramona felt her face grow hot. She was blushing. She reached for the card. Garrett stopped her and handed her a pen. "Give me your phone number," he said. "I get off around five."

  Chapter Six

  The whiskey sour burned Garrett's throat. He sat sipping it in The Brass Frog. He was waiting for Ramona, who he'd called after work. He wasn't entirely sure why he was pursuing anything with this girl. He knew it was a better idea for him to lie low in Elston. And besides, his relationship with Carrie had proven that he wasn't a particularly good boyfriend. He was possessive and angry and a regular fuck-up. But...it had been a long time since Carrie. Of course, this Ramona chick seemed pretty nuts. Still, she was the only girl since he'd come back to Elston who'd spoken to him, except the girl that had been killed. He figured it couldn't hurt. Ramona had been excited to hear from him and offered to meet him at the bar. The Brass Frog wasn't Garrett's idea of a really great place to hang out. Things never turned out well when he was there. But he agreed anyway, because it was kind of nice to have plans. Even if he was going to go talk to a chick who swore she'd seen ghosts.

  He'd sort of hoped she'd be waiting for him when he arrived. But she wasn't there. And she didn't arrive while he was ordering his drink.

  Alone, nursing a beer, Garrett began to think about his life. He felt like he was barely keeping his head above water. It took so much concentration just to keep breathing that he couldn't focus on much of anything else. Still, he felt acutely that he'd failed at life in general. That his current situation was less than desirable. That he was a loser, baby.

  "So why don't you kill me?" he muttered under his breath.

  "What was that?"

  It was Ramona.

  "Hi,"
said Garrett, startled.

  Ramona was holding a half-empty beer. "I was in the back," she said, sitting down with him. "When did you get here?"

  "Couple minutes ago," said Garrett.

  "I've been here since like seven," said Ramona. "I think I'm a little drunk." She took a long swig of beer.

  Great. Drunk crazy girl. This was Garrett's idea of a great evening, all right. On the other hand, that was about the only flavor of girl in Elston. If they weren't crazy, and they didn't get drunk, the town didn't appeal to them. Garrett cocked his head and took Ramona in. Long brown hair, nice features—no makeup, of course. Girls in Elston didn't wear makeup. Hell, girls in college didn't wear makeup. Not that Garrett cared. She was still kind of pretty without makeup, so that was saying something. Ramona had nice tits. Garrett liked tits. He wouldn't say he was a breast man, exactly, but he definitely appreciated breasts. Ramona's weren't too big, but they were more than a handful. How long had it been since he'd had a handful of breast? Geez, how long had it been since he'd gotten laid?

  "...so what do you think?" said Ramona.

  Garrett quickly shifted his eyes to her face. "Um..." he said. "What?"

  "Were you just staring at my tits?" said Ramona.

  "No," said Garrett.

  "Because I guess I don't really mind. It's kind of a compliment if they were so mesmerizing that you couldn't even concentrate on what I was saying. I mean, kind of. Not really, because it's really also pretty creepy, what with you being a supposed rapist and all and—goddamn it, I really am drunk." Ramona took another long swig of beer.

  "I'm pretty sure that if you keep drinking like that you won't get any less drunk," said Garrett, wondering how the hell he hadn't gotten in big trouble for not having any idea what she'd just said.

  Ramona nodded. "Yeah," she said. "You're right." She took another drink, downing the rest of the contents of the bottle. "I need another drink." She got up.

  Garrett watched her head for the bar. This was a really bad idea. He should just leave, right now, but he knew he wasn't going to. As weird as this Ramona chick was, she was also...intriguing. He wanted to know more about her. And he had to admit, the fact she'd seen something weird involving the townies made him feel better. Sometimes, since he'd come back to Elston, he'd felt as if he were going crazy. The memories of the night before he left were vivid at times, at others blurry. But whatever it was he remembered, it was disturbing. And it meant that he either had mental problems or that something really fucked up was going on.

  Ramona sat back down with a fresh drink. "Okay," she said. "Once more, and this time, try to pay attention. You saw Blair killed, but Blair isn't dead. I saw Angelica alive after she died. And today at work, while I was working on this brochure thing I have to do, I found this."

  Ramona dug an old brochure out of her purse and slid it across the table to Garrett. He looked down at the brochure, which said "Elston College: Academic Excellence, Pastoral Setting" on the top. Underneath, there was a black and white picture of two girls wearing calf-length skirts making their way across the street, clutching books to their chests.

  Garrett looked up at Ramona. "So?"

  She tapped one of the girl's faces in the picture. "That's Dawn Trimbley."

  Who? Garrett looked at her again. He did recognize her, now that he looked again. She was one of the girls who hung out in front of the coffee shop. One of Blair's friends. But he still didn't understand what was so important about the brochure.

  "This brochure was made in 1953," said Ramona. "Dawn wasn't even alive then."

  Garrett didn't understand where she was going with this. "So, you think it's her grandmother or something?"

  "Look at her. That's Dawn. That's not a relative. That's her."

  Garrett shrugged. "If you say so."

  "Well, I think it's her."

  "So?"

  "So, don't you think that's weird?"

  Garrett considered. On the face of it, it was pretty weird. But there were tons of rational ways to explain that away, like... He struggled to think of one. Garrett picked the brochure up off the table. Held it closer to his face. Studied it. "What do you think it means?"

  "I don't know. Nothing probably," said Ramona. "You obviously don't think it's that weird, so, I guess...never mind."

  Garrett shrugged. "I'm sure there's an explanation," he said.

  Ramona nodded. "Yeah. Probably."

  Garrett didn't know what to say back. He couldn't think of any explanations, even though he kept trying. It was probably just Dawn's grandmother or something. Ramona fidgeted across from him. She looked over her shoulder towards the back of the bar. Shit. If he didn't say something soon, she was probably going to leave. Did he want her to? After all, she was nuts. But...damn it. She seemed nice enough. She was talking to him. And Garrett hadn't talked to a girl in a really long time.

  "Maybe they're clones," he said.

  Ramona whipped her head back around. "What?"

  "They're clones. They kill people and replace them with clones. But they found Angelica's body. Nobody was supposed to find the body. Angelica's clone was supposed to take her place. Like Blair's clone took hers after I saw her killed. And Dawn...they've been cloning Dawn since the fifties." Well. For a stupid theory, that sure worked. But it wasn't plausible. Or anything. Still, it kind of might make a good science fiction movie.

  But Ramona wasn't shooting the idea down out of hand. She appeared to be considering it. "Clones?" She shook her head. Looked at her drink in a kind of embarrassed way. "I kind of thought maybe they were ghosts."

  "Well, yeah, you said you saw Angelica's ghost," said Garrett.

  "But you think they're clones."

  Garrett thought that he wanted to talk to a pretty girl for once. But sure, fuck it. If this girl wanted to talk clones, he'd talk clones.

  * * *

  The door to The Holy Grind stood open, spilling chilly air onto the sidewalk. Even though it was springtime, The Grind had the air conditioner pumping. Ramona stood outside, trying to get the attention of Owen, who was behind the counter. She thought maybe she could just order from outside, and then she wouldn't have to step foot inside the frigid coffee shop. But Owen was oblivious, so Ramona took a deep breath and stepped inside. Immediately, goose bumps erupted all over her skin. Her nipples tightened.

  Owen looked at her, but he didn't look at her nipples. Ramona thought briefly about the way Garrett had ogled her chest the night before. That had been kind of nice. It had been a while since a guy had found her even remotely attractive, and God knew she'd been carrying a torch for Mason so long it was pathetic. Her nipples rubbed against the fabric of her bra—a pleasant sensation. She wondered if Garrett really were a rapist. She wondered what it would be like to be raped by Garrett.

  Mmm. Yeah, when she thought about it like that, it probably wasn't rape was it? Because what it was like to be raped by anybody was really fucking awful. She knew that. God! She couldn't seriously be considering what it would be like to have sex with Garrett Hillard, could she? Because sex with Garrett was out of the question. Not even an idea. She couldn't even—

  He had nice lips. Ramona was betting he was a pretty good kisser. She couldn't help but smile as she thought about it.

  "Ramona?" said Owen. "You wanna order something?"

  "Icy Chalice?" She was embarrassed. "Sorry."

  "No problem," said Owen.

  Ramona waited while Owen made her drink, and then, after he gave it to her, she looked at him expectantly. When he didn't quote her a price, she headed back out into the warmth. Having friends who worked in the coffee shop sometimes translated into free drinks, which was definitely a perk. While she'd been getting a drink, Dawn and Cecelia had settled down at a table outside The Grind. Ramona didn't know what to do. Cecelia hated Ramona's guts. So she couldn't go sit with them. But she didn't want to sit at another table and be rude. They might think she was snubbing them. Ramona stood just outside the doorway of The Holy Grind, frozen lik
e a deer in headlights.

  Dawn motioned her over. "Come sit with us, Ramona," she said.

  Ramona still hesitated, waiting for Cecelia to say something or make a face or stalk off. When Cecelia just smiled, Ramona edged her way to the table. She set down her Icy Chalice and sat down. "Hi," she said.

  Dawn and Cecelia smiled at her.

  Were they smiling clone smiles?

  No. That was fucked up and ridiculous. Garrett Hillard was crazy, admiration for her bust notwithstanding. He might not be a crazy rapist, but he was definitely not playing with a full deck of cards. There was no way that the river hippies were clones. There was no way that Dawn and Cecelia were clones. Ramona wasn't even going to think about it anymore, because it was that ridiculous. Ramona smiled back. She dug her pack of cigarettes out of her purse and took a cigarette out.

  Dawn and Cecelia watched her light the cigarette. No one spoke.

  "So," said Ramona. "How have you guys been?"

  "Good," said Dawn.

  "Good," said Cecelia.

  Ramona nodded. There was a long, long pause. "Good," said Ramona. On second thought, maybe they were clones. They sure were acting weird. Maybe Ramona should just go. She could drink her Icy Chalice in her apartment, and it was just above them. She could see her open window from the street if she looked up. The tapestry she used as a curtain was fluttering in the breeze.

  No. She wasn't going to let these girls chase her off. Dawn and Cecelia could be bitchy if they wanted to be, but there wasn't anything wrong with them. They were just girls. Not ghosts. Not clones. None of that shit meant anything except that Ramona might be losing some cards from her own deck. And Ramona would prove to herself once and for all that all of that crazy ghost/clone shit was in her head.

  Ramona took the brochure from the admissions office out of her purse. She'd been carrying it around. "I found something weird," she said lightly. "You guys wanna see? It'll freak you out, Dawn."