by Jeyn Roberts
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“No,” she says, but her tone suggests otherwise. She glances over at me, looking at my face. “Are you from around here? I’ve never seen you before. I thought pretty much everyone in this area went to my school.”
I shrug. I could tell her I’m visiting friends, but she might ask which ones. She’s right: this is a small community, and everyone knows everyone. The teenagers are probably a tight-knit crowd. I have to be careful. I don’t want to spook her—well, at least not yet.
“I’m passing through,” I say. “My name’s Molly.”
“I’m Tatum.”
We sit in silence for the next minute or so. I look at the sun visor above my head, wondering if there might be a mirror there. Would she think I was weird if I checked? Would I even recognize myself?
“You don’t have any luggage.” The girl pulls me from my vain thoughts.
“What?”
“Luggage. You don’t have any.” She eyes me again, suspiciously. She’s got a good point, too. If I’m passing through, a hitchhiker trying to see the country, I should at least have a change of clothing or maybe even a sleeping bag. I look down at my empty arms. I don’t even carry a purse.
“It’s in a locker at the bus station,” I say quickly. “In Seattle. I used to have an old friend here, so I just came down for the day. But he’s moved away.”
She nods, obviously buying my story. There is a bus station in Evander, so she’s probably thinking that’s where I’ll want to be dropped off. I turn to look out the window. After all these Fades, I’ve grown to recognize this road and its bumps and curves. The burned-down barn on the right that was standing until around my third Fade. The small lake across from it. I can’t see it in the dark, but I know it’s there. I swam in it, three days before I died. I know this road better than any other. Even the fog doesn’t trip me up. We drive past the field where Walter dumped my body. Only a few more miles to go and we’ll reach the town limits. At the rate the girl is driving, I’ll be Fading in about two minutes.
Time to make my move.
When she puts her hand on the gearshift, I reach out suddenly and run my fingers across her skin. She instantly pulls back. So much for being discreet.
What comes next makes me even more obvious.
A wave of emotions crashes against my brain, making me cry out in horror. Pain. Sadness. I see flashes of events: people slamming against her in the hallway, computer messages filled with mean words, a girl with long curly hair screaming, angry feelings toward an older man, possibly a teacher. I see the girl crying in her bedroom, wiping away the tears, trying to pretend nothing’s happening. All these horrible moments. A terrible loneliness.
That’s only the beginning. What comes next is a million times worse.
Darkness. Shoes. Kicking. Blood. Water. Metal. A face being pushed under the surface, lungs screaming for air. Laughing.
Betrayal.
Something is about to happen. Something that will make my death look like a walk in the park. The images assault me. I can’t make them stop. It’s like watching a movie in fast-forward, only I’m hearing every single scream, feeling every single emotion. I double over, hands clenching my stomach as a stabbing pain cuts through me like a knife.
“Are you okay?” The girl begins to slow down.
I start to Fade. It’s happening too quickly. I need to get this message out. I have to warn her. I reach out and grab her wrist. She tries to pull away, but I hold on tighter. I have to tell her.
“You’re going to die. It will hurt and you’ll be alone. And no one will help you.” A sob catches in my throat as the words leave my lips.
“What? What do you mean?”
But I can’t answer. I’m fading away into the gray upholstery. I see her face. Eyes wide and terrified. Curious. She can’t believe what’s happening. Reality just won’t allow her to believe.
Later, she’ll find ways to convince herself that she made the whole thing up.
I pray with all my heart that she doesn’t.
TATUM
What the hell?
Tatum’s foot automatically slams against the brake. Twisting the steering wheel, she brings the car to a stop by the side of the road. Tires crunch gravel, and for a horrifying second she thinks she’s heading straight into the ditch. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen; no need to call a tow truck tonight. That would be one more proverbial backbreaking straw to send her father further off the deep end.
What the hell just happened?
The girl, Molly—that was her name—is gone. Tatum looks at the empty passenger seat, not believing her eyes, her brain frantically running on overdrive to try and find an explanation. Anything.
No one disappears into thin air. It’s not possible.
Unless they’re a ghost.
Or Tatum is completely crazy.
No such thing…I mean the ghost thing. Insanity’s still up for debate.
The door. She must have opened it and slipped out. Jumped and barrel-rolled into the bushes. No, that’s not possible. Tatum knows that didn’t happen. She would have seen that. You can’t just climb out while the vehicle is moving. You’d have to be a stunt person or some sort of acrobat. Can you even open a car door while it’s moving? Tatum tends to automatically lock the car at night. Did she after Molly climbed in? She can’t remember. Besides, the warning system would have gone wild. She looks up into the rearview mirror. Nothing moves in the fog behind her. Her brake lights blaze red, making the whiteness glow slightly pink.
This is stupid. No one disappears into thin air. But I know she didn’t open the door and jump out. There’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed that. I’m not that self-centered. And I’m not going crazy. I didn’t imagine the entire thing. I have no history of mental illness. No strange obsessive behaviors. I’ve never had any desire to cut myself or jump off bridges.
Do insane people know they’re crazy?
That leaves ghosts and goblins and whatever else goes bump in the night. I left all those fantasies around the time I got a training bra.
She should get out of the car to check. Just in case. Maybe it happened so fast, her brain just didn’t have time to process it. That has to be it. All the other ideas are too preposterous for Tatum to even want to consider. She turns the ignition off and opens the door. A blast of cool wind slips into the car, making her shiver.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Not even crickets. Tatum climbs out of the car, the security system beeping at her, letting her know the keys are still in the ignition. She snatches at them, shoves them in her pocket. Remembering there’s a flashlight in the trunk, she reaches back into the car and presses the button. She closes the door quietly. The interior lights blink out, and she’s left in the darkness.
Slowly she makes her way around to the trunk and pulls out the flashlight. Turning it on, she holds it in front of her, looking back down the road.
Nothing.
“Hello?”
Nothing but pavement and fog. She checks the ditch and shines the beam along the trees and bushes.
“Molly? Are you out there?”
If there really was a girl in her car a few minutes ago, she’s done a good job of disappearing.
But how?
Tatum walks around the length of the car, even checking the backseat twice to make sure. Opening the passenger door, she shines the light against the seat, trying to find some sort of a clue. She reaches down and touches the upholstery. Runs her fingers along the area where the girl’s back leaned against the cloth. It’s still warm.
It isn’t really much to go by, but it confirms that just a few minutes ago there was a girl sitting there—Molly—with her insanely long brown hair and funny outfit. And wasn’t she sporting sandals? Who on earth wears those this time of the year? Tatum looks down at her own boots. She’s only been outside the car for a few minutes, and already her toes are freezing. Sandals in the spring might work in Mexico, but not in Washington.
Not even on a warm day.
Hippie clothing, her mother would call it. The type of stuff that you find in secondhand stores but that usually costs a fortune because it’s considered retro and trendy.
Old-fashioned clothing. Out-of-date hairstyle. Sudden disappearance into thin air. This is too much like the movie she and Claudette watched last summer.
No, stop thinking like that. There’s no such thing as ghosts.
But Molly couldn’t be a ghost. Spirits are supposed to be cold. Isn’t that what happens in movies? A chill goes through the room? Impossible. Tatum felt her. Molly reached out and touched her hand before she said those freaky things.
You’re going to die. It will hurt and you’ll be alone. And no one will help you.
What a horrible thing to say to someone. Was it a trick? Something that Claudette and the others came up with? A new way to torment Tatum even more? If so, where’s the group now? Wouldn’t they be hiding in the bushes, laughing their asses off at the chance to watch Tatum freak out?
Unless there’s still more to come.
Tatum shivers and zips her hoodie up a little higher. Looking in both directions, she can’t see any cars coming. Her car should be off to the side enough that someone won’t hit her. Tatum stares into the bushes for a moment before stepping off the road and into the ditch. She can’t help it; she has to double-check for two reasons: If this is a joke that’s being played, she would rather die than let anyone think they scared her. And if the girl really did fall out of the car, she can’t drive off. Molly could be hurt, and Tatum could never leave someone by the side of the road if they needed help.
She didn’t jump out of the car. You know this. You just don’t want to admit it, because then you have to think of another answer. And you can’t. You know these things don’t exist. It’s like believing in the boogeyman or Santa Claus. There’s no such thing as ghosts.
The ditch is full of dew, and it soaks her jeans and boots. Tatum swears softly to herself as her foot sinks into the soft earth, making a disgusting squelching noise. The fog seems to close around her, circling her ankles, as if the earth is trying to swallow her up. She listens carefully to the night, for any sort of sound that might give her a clue.
Nothing.
She walks through the ditch, ignoring the cold as it crawls up her legs and makes her teeth chatter. Shining the flashlight in all directions, she spends a good five minutes before admitting that there is no girl there. No practical joke, either. Claudette wouldn’t have done something like this without sticking around to get the last laugh. Besides, Tatum knows she wasn’t followed because Claudette never knew about her Frog Road drives. That was the one thing Tatum kept to herself. Her secret mobile oasis, shared by no one. Not even her parents know she does this.
The bushes and trees to her left are thick and dark. The branches wind together, and dead leaves sway in the wind. Tatum definitely doesn’t want to go there. Even if she could push her way through the brambles, she’d probably tear her clothing or scratch her face. What if she came across something even worse? For all she knows, there could be a decaying body hidden in that shadowy mess. Isn’t that why ghosts haunt? They’re supposed to be unable to go on to the next world because of the way they died. Maybe this girl was murdered here, her body left to the coyotes and wolves. It’s possible that it could have gone undetected for a number of years. Whoever owns this land hasn’t done anything to it. It’s never been farmed or clear-cut. No one seems to live there. She’s never seen a house. At least not that she can remember.
Maybe that’s why Molly appeared. She wants Tatum to help so she can leave this world and go on to the next.
Molly. No last name. That’s not a lot to go by. Tatum turns and climbs back up to the road. If what happened tonight is real, if she really did see a ghost, there would have to be a record of it somewhere. Tatum can’t be the only person to ever see her. And if she was indeed a restless spirit, murdered however many years ago, that would have made the news. Missing posters and all that stuff. Her smiling face on Walmart entrances. Parents out there somewhere, wondering what happened to their precious daughter.
Tatum climbs back into her car and starts the ignition. As she drives off, she keeps glancing at the passenger seat, wondering if the girl might reappear. But she doesn’t.
She drives the car up and down Frog Road for the next hour, hoping to catch another glimpse, but Molly doesn’t reappear. Finally, Tatum heads for home, all sorts of thoughts running around in her brain.
For the first time in weeks, she’s thinking of something other than her own miserable life. She smiles to herself. Maybe this is exactly what she needs. A distraction.
* * *
It started in November.
“I’ve got a secret!”
Tatum closed her locker and turned to see Claudette grinning mischievously at her. Her curls, which Tatum was insanely jealous of, spread out in all directions; her hair had a real mind of its own yet always managed to look good. Wild and unruly, just like Claudette.
“What?” Tatum asked.
“I can’t tell you.” Claudette’s eyes sparkled as she handed back Tatum’s copy of The Outsiders. English period was next, and they’d been pretending to work on their assignments last night. Apparently Tatum must have left her book behind.
“Then why mention it in the first place?”
They turned and started walking toward class together.
“I can’t talk about it here,” Claudette said. “But I’m more than happy to give you all the X-rated details later. Let’s meet up after final class and go over to my place. The ’rents are gone. But you have to promise to take it to the grave.” She spun around and did a little dance step that made a poor freshman jump out of the way. “This is juicy.”
“Let me guess,” Tatum said. “It involves a boy.”
“All the good secrets do,” Claudette said.
They stepped into class just as the bell rang. Tatum took her seat and opened her book. Claudette was always finding new boys to fall in love with. It would only be a matter of time before she broke that poor boy’s heart and went on to the next. Smiling, Tatum glanced over at her best friend before settling in to listen to Mr. Hawthorn, the English teacher, bore her to death with one of her favorite books.
* * *
Now that she looks back on it, boy was she wrong. When Claudette told Tatum she was going to go on a date with Mr. Paracini, Tatum was speechless. This wasn’t some poor high school kid or the ever-forbidden college student; this was something that went way beyond that.
They were sitting on the bed in Claudette’s room. Her friend had the school website open, Mr. Paracini’s face enlarged across her screen.
“We’re going to hook up on Friday night,” Claudette said. “Nothing sexy, just hanging out. Hot kissing. Maybe some groping. Oh God, Tatum, don’t give me that look.” Claudette tossed a pillow at her. “Stop making that face.”
“What face?” Tatum reached up to touch her cheek.
“Like you just found out your grandmother is running a crack house.”
There was a pause while Tatum tried to rearrange her features, but the shock wouldn’t let go.
“How on earth did you do this?”
“We’re going to meet out of town. In Everett. Barry thinks that’s the best way to do it. We need to keep this on the down-low. There are a lot of prissy people here.” Claudette frowned. “That’s the problem with small towns. Everyone needs to know everyone else’s business. It’s much harder to be discreet. Remember when I gave Larry Bronson a pity date? Thought I’d never live that one down.”
“No, I mean, how did this happen?”
Claudette grinned wickedly. “That was tricky too. I hate to brag, but I was a genius. I staked him out, of course. A few remarks. Some low-cut shirts. Tight jeans. No man could resist me. And you can’t blame me. He’s the hottest teacher around. Who wouldn’t want a piece of him?”
Tatum grinned. Everything Claudette
said was true. She was probably the prettiest girl at Hamilton and an absolute queen at flirting. No boy had ever turned her down for a date. She had the incredible knack of always knowing the right things to say and how to get boys to fall over themselves trying to please her. When Claudette put on the charm, the boys came a-running. And now apparently the men did too.
“We’ve been flirting back and forth all semester. Some of it’s been hot and heavy; I’m surprised no one’s picked up on it.” She gave Tatum a glare that suggested Tatum should have known all along. She dug her phone out of her bag, pressed a few buttons, and then handed it to Tatum. “Sexting. Crazy stuff. Of course I’ve got him down under a different name. I’m not stupid. He’s got two phones. One his wife doesn’t know about. Keeps it on vibrate all the time.” Claudette giggled loudly and pushed her hair back behind her shoulders.
Tatum accepted the phone but didn’t really look. She didn’t want to read her friend’s X-rated texts. It would be too personal, like reading her diary. Yes, of course she knew Claudette flirted with Mr. Paracini. Heck, the entire female population at school flirted with him. He was incredibly handsome. Blond hair and blue eyes. Tall. Many a senior had spent time in his biology class ignoring her studies and staring at the way his jeans fit his body perfectly. Girls giggled about him in the bathroom during breaks. Tatum had even been a part of it. She remembered talking with Claudette and Juniper during lunch break, discussing how lucky Mr. Paracini’s wife was to have snagged such a great piece of ass.
Tatum’s face grew red at the memory. Now she was embarrassed. It was one thing to talk about how handsome a teacher was, but another to actually try and get a date with him. That was a rule that Tatum would never break. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. But Claudette—well, she’d always been one to do whatever she wanted. Excitement and line crossing were what she dreamed of. The idea of dating a teacher would be something she’d consider a major achievement.
And Claudette loved a challenge.
“Don’t you think this is a bad idea?” Tatum asked. “What if you get caught? Teachers aren’t supposed to date students.”