by Jeyn Roberts
“She has no reason to be a ghost. Her body was found. Her killer went to jail. Aren’t ghosts supposed to have unfinished business? Every website I look at says that’s the reason why they don’t pass over. Something to do about being unable to enter heaven if your soul isn’t completely at peace.”
“Dunno,” Scott says. “That sounds a bit vague. Wouldn’t you think anyone who died young wouldn’t be peaceful? I’d like to think I’d be angry if I get hit by a car on the way home.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“Maybe she tripped on her shoelace on the way to the white light.”
“Or got lost.”
“Had to stop and ask for directions?”
Tatum giggles. “Can you get heaven on GPS?”
Scott picks up the newspaper article and studies Molly’s picture. His casual smile fades away. “She was really pretty. What a shame.”
“She was engaged,” Tatum says quickly. For some reason her stomach tightens when Scott mentions Molly’s looks. Is she jealous? Come on. Of a ghost? What a ridiculous idea.
“Maybe that’s her unfinished business,” Scott says. “She’s got to come back to get married. Wait, wasn’t there already a movie about that? One with Johnny Depp?”
“It’s possible,” Tatum says. “Or maybe they got the wrong guy. No, that can’t be it.” She thinks about what Molly said to her. She mentioned Walter specifically as the person who did the deed.
“So do you really believe this stuff?” Scott asks. “Ghosts and unfinished business. Or is this just your writerly curiosity coming out?”
Tatum pauses. She knows she should laugh and say she finds the concept of ghosts to be completely stupid. Everyone knows there are no such things. But there’s something in the way Scott is looking at her that makes her want to tell the truth. Well, not all the truth.
“Yeah, I guess I am a bit of a believer,” she says.
Scott smiles. “Then I should tell you I totally lied.”
“What do you mean?”
“About my grandma. Remember I said she was all interested in this stuff because it was her friend’s farm? I lied. What if I told you that she claims she actually met Molly’s ghost in person?”
Tatum nearly drops the cold cup of coffee that’s halfway up to her lips. “But what about all these articles? They’re all from the seventies.”
Scott smiles. “She got them from her neighbor a few years ago. He was some sort of hoarder. Had an entire bedroom full of papers from all over the place. Magazines. Books. She kept a bunch of them and found all this stuff.”
Tatum leans closer. She’s practically on the edge of her seat. She’s gone beyond trying to look cool and collected to impress Scott. Her excitement must be contagious because he can’t stop grinning.
“So what happened then?”
“With my grandma? It’s crazy, actually. I never knew this about her. She only told me this story the other night. I’m still kind weirded out. About five years ago, she was coming home from a bridge tournament. She saw this young girl hitchhiking on the road and says she felt compelled to pull over. She’s never picked up anyone in her entire life, but she says she had no choice. It was like her body became possessed and she had to stop.”
Tatum is nodding. She felt the same way when she first saw Molly. She remembers being wary, and then all that fear just went out the back window. There had been something magical about the girl on Frog Road.
“So she picks this girl up and they drive for a while. Have a bit of small conversation. She said her name was Molly and she seemed fascinated by the car stereo and the CDs Grandma had on the dash. Then the girl turned and touched her. She told Granny that she was missing something important and that she had to go back to her sister’s house in New Hampshire. If she moved the bed in the guest room, she’d find her answer. Then she just disappeared. Granny said she nearly crashed the car into a tree. She was really shaken up over it. Wouldn’t drive for a month. Made my uncle take her for groceries. Told him some lame story about the accelerator being broken.”
Shivers slip across Tatum’s skin. This is like what she read on the forum. That guy who insisted Molly had told his friend that his mother was dying and where to find the will.
“So what happened?”
“Granny got on a plane and went to New Hampshire. Her sister had died five years ago and they’d sold the house. But the person who’d bought it had turned it into a bed-and-breakfast. They’d kept most of the antique furniture, including the bed in the guest room. It was this huge mahogany oak thing—took three people to move it. But Granny insisted, and they found an envelope behind it with a safety deposit key in it. They went to the bank and found the box. There was all sorts of stuff in there that Granny thought had been lost. Jewelry. Pictures. Even some old stocks.”
“That’s amazing.”
Scott nods. “Yeah, she told me all about this the other night after making me swear I wouldn’t tell Mom she’s senile and belongs in a nursing home.”
“Wow.”
“I know, right?” Scott picks up another article and glances at it. “I always thought Granny was kinda boring and old. Not anymore. Now she’s kinda cool.”
It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell Scott all about her own experience with Molly, but she stops herself. She’s not quite ready to share yet. Scott still isn’t a friend, and a part of her still worries that she’s being set up. Damn Claudette for making her so suspicious. It’s not fair. Will she ever be able to trust people again?
Yes, she thinks. The day I get out of here. I’ll drive so far away, no one will be able to find me. Sure, I’ll still have trust issues, but it’ll be different. At least I’ll be able to look at people and not immediately think they’re on Claudette’s side.
“Well, I should lock up,” Scott says. “I have to set the alarm. The owner will wonder if I stay behind too late.” He stands and jangles the keys in his hand. “You can keep that stuff for a few days if you want. It’ll give you enough time to copy it. Granny doesn’t mind. Heck, she’ll probably agree to an interview if you want one.”
Tatum laughs. “That might be a good idea. I’ll let you know how the story comes along.”
“I hope you’ll let me read it.”
Tatum almost groans. She has no intention of ever writing it. All she wants to do is go home and surf the Net, looking for more evidence of Molly’s activities. And Julian. Is he still alive? Is that Tatum’s job? To find him? A love message from beyond the grave. How romantic.
She gathers up the loose newspaper articles and stuffs them back in the photo album. Tosses her empty cup in the garbage and waits while Scott turns off all the lights behind the counter and sets the alarm. He opens the door for her and locks it behind them.
“I’m working the next two nights,” he says as they stand by the door. The parking lot is empty except for both their cars. “But I’d like to talk to you some more about it. This sort of thing is interesting. Maybe you’d like to get together for a coffee on Wednesday. A different coffee shop, hopefully. This isn’t really my favorite place for my days off.”
Tatum’s stomach does a bunch of flip-flops. He’s asking her out. More than anything else, she wants to say yes. But that pesky fear tickles the back of her neck. Can she trust Scott? He’s got to know about Claudette’s accusations. He doesn’t live in a cave and isn’t immune to gossip. Claudette’s managed to convince the entire town that Tatum’s a psycho stalker chick. So why isn’t Scott running away in fear?
“I don’t know…,” she says lamely, hating the words as they come out of her mouth.
“Look.” Scott reaches out and touches her jacket sleeve. “I know you’ve been through some hard times lately with all that crap that went down at school. It’s a shitty thing that the others are doing. You’d think they’d get over it and move on to a new target. Find a new car to mark their territory on. Those guys are a bunch of morons.”
“I can handle it.”
“It
’s not right.”
“I didn’t do any of those things Claudette claims, either,” Tatum says. “I really didn’t. But no one believes me, so I’m stuck with it.”
There is a long pause while Scott stares at the empty parking lot. In the distance, Tatum can hear the cars on the interstate. Her phone vibrates in her back pocket, probably a text from Mom wondering where she is.
“I know you’re telling the truth,” Scott finally says. “I saw Claudette and Mr. Paracini a few months ago, here at the coffee shop. They came in holding hands. I swear, when Claudette recognized me, I thought she was going to pass out. She whispered something to Mr. P., and he got all nervous and let go of her hand like she’d turned into a freak. They left right away. Couldn’t get out fast enough.”
“You knew?”
“Claudette came up to me a few days later and gave me some stupid story about how Mr. Paracini was tutoring her. Of course I knew that was a load of crap. She was all over him. But she begged me not to say anything. Said Mr. Paracini would write me a great reference letter for college.”
“And you agreed?”
“Sure,” Scott says. “Come on, this was several months ago. To be honest, I didn’t really care. If she wants to get into the teacher’s pants, it’s not my business. I never thought they’d actually hurt anyone.”
“But what about later on?” Tatum’s mouth has gone completely dry.
Scott looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry, Tatum. Really, I am. If I had known they were going to attack you that way, I would have said something.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I thought the whole thing would blow over. I never thought you’d end up getting bullied this way. In all honesty, I didn’t want to get involved.”
The words are like a slap in the face.
I didn’t want to get involved.
Isn’t that the way it always works? Who cares what happens to the other person as long as it doesn’t happen to you? Tatum’s lungs begin to burn and she inhales like she’s been underwater. Her heart flutters in a bad way. She can feel the pulse at her temples. A panic attack. She hasn’t had one of these in ages. She thought she had them under control.
Breathe. Breathe. Try and calm down. Focus on anything other than Scott. The panic recedes, but anger fills the empty space.
“You could have helped me.” Any affection she felt for Scott has disappeared. Tatum holds on tightly to her laptop, afraid she’ll end up punching him if she drops it.
“What if I told you Claudette threatened to destroy me too?” Scott said. “I just got accepted into a bunch of colleges. UCLA has offered me a scholarship. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not working in a coffee shop for fun. My parents don’t have the money to help me. I need a scholarship.”
“What did Claudette say?”
“She came to me, telling me that Mr. Paracini would change my grade. Tell the schools that he made a mistake. Fail me in biology. She threatened all sorts of lies.”
“It would have been us against them,” Tatum says. “It’s not too late, either. You could still go the principal. Tell the truth.”
“Do you really think it would make a difference?”
The worst part is that she knows his words are true. Even if Scott did tell someone, the only thing it would do is bring up the whole ugly mess all over again. The damage is already done. Does she really want to go through it a second time?
But it’s a chance to be redeemed.
If anyone believes Scott.
And Tatum has a strong feeling that no one is going to believe anything Scott says. No, more likely he’ll get labeled a troublemaker and a liar. Then the others will start bullying him. He’ll lose any chances of going to college. He’ll be no better off than Tatum.
“I’m sorry,” Scott says. But the apology isn’t good enough.
“I’ve got to go.” Tatum turns and fumbles with her key chain. She throws everything in her backseat unceremoniously.
Scott taps on the side of her car. She starts the engine and presses the button to lower the window. The radio begins blasting My Chemical Romance. She reaches over and turns it off so she can hear him.
“I can tell someone,” he says. “I know it’s selfish of me to think of myself when your life is such a mess.”
“No,” she whispers. “You’re right. They wouldn’t believe you anyway.”
“I’m really sorry.”
She knows he’s telling her the truth. Unfortunately, the truth doesn’t do much these days.
“I know,” she says.
“Look,” Scott says. He leans from one leg onto the other. “I’d really like to get to know you better. Take a few days to think about it. You’ll have to give me back the articles anyway. Okay?”
“Sure.” Her phone starts to ring. Her mother. She’s going to freak if Tatum doesn’t answer. Ignoring texts is one thing. Missed phone calls when she’s almost an hour late are worth notifying the authorities.
“I’ve got to go,” she says. She grabs her phone.
Scott steps back from the car. “Just think about it.”
She makes no promises.
MOLLY
We climb.
Eventually Parker stops dragging me up the hill and we move across the terrain toward what I assume is the other side of the lake. I’m not even sure what direction we’re going in. I can’t see anything but trees and blue sky. I have no idea how long we’ve been hiking. Time means nothing here. If I could pin it down in earth hours, I’d say it’s been more than a few.
“We’re almost there,” he says.
Things begin to change. Hardly noticeable at first. A dead leaf crunches beneath my sandal. I spot a fallen tree. We have to climb over it to continue moving. The bark is rough beneath my hands. Pieces fall off and onto the ground. They don’t instantly reappear like they should.
I see footprints in the soft moss. Probably Parker’s from the times he’s been here before.
Then I hear it. The soft rustle of leaves above me. I look straight up.
Wind.
This place. This small area in the tiny corner of our snow globe. It’s alive.
“How is this possible?”
There’s moss on a downed tree beside me. It glistens with dampness. I reach out and run my fingers along the soft clumps. Pulling away, I see that my skin is wet. And it’s cool. I hold my hand up to my face, shocked, my brain still trying to understand what it’s feeling.
It’s like I’ve escaped back to earth.
“I don’t know,” Parker says, but I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s got his theories.
“It’s like a gateway,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s how I figure it too. A crossover between both worlds. This place, it’s not very big. About fifty feet in diameter. There.” He points to the right of us. My eyes follow his finger.
A cave.
A hole cuts straight into the mountain. It’s about four feet high and wide enough to fit a slender person. It’s so well camouflaged by the bushes, I probably could have walked right past it and never seen the entrance. I try and look inside, but all I can see is darkness. This is supposed to be the big escape from our prison. How does it work, and how quickly can I get out of here?
“Okay,” Parker says. He stops, blocking me from moving farther. “I need to explain some things first. You need to understand what you’re up against. There are…rules. Easy enough to follow, but trust me, you don’t want to get trapped out there.”
I almost want to laugh. It’s inside here that we’re trapped; being stuck on earth again sounds like a dream come true. How many times have I Faded to the road, only to wish I could spend a few hours doing my own thing? It always sucks when I see the headlights in the distance and know exactly what I have to do, what stupid mystical rules I have to follow, when I Fade back to this place. I am the ultimate puppet on a string. We all are.
“Fine, hurry up, then,” I say, the words coming out harsh and sli
ghtly childish. After being stuck here for over forty years, I might have learned to be patient.
“Sit down.” Parker points to a fallen tree. The one with the damp moss.
If I sit there, I’ll get my dress all wet. Sadly, that sounds heavenly. I give Parker a look to suggest he needs to just get on with it, but he refuses to budge. Finally I sigh loudly and plop my butt down in protest.
“It’s not hard to get out,” Parker says. “Easier than I would think. It didn’t take me long to work out the puzzle. You can go wherever you want. All you really have to do is think about it.”
“Anywhere in the world?” Suddenly I’m no longer thinking about Tatum. I mean, once I save her, there’s nothing off-limits to me. I could travel anywhere. See all the places I didn’t get to visit before I died. Imagine. All I have to do is think about Rio and instantly I’d be in Brazil? How cool is that?
“Yeah, anywhere.”
“So how come you don’t use this all the time?” I ask. Parker might be cool with his overthinking, analytical brain, but surely even he can’t resist such a good thing.
“I did, in the beginning. I was excited, just like you. But I learned quickly that there is a price to pay.”
I pause. “Those…Remnant things?”
Parker nods. “They’re dead, like us. But the similarity ends there. They’re…I don’t know how to describe it. Empty. It’s as if their souls no longer exist. Empty shells.”
“Okay,” I say. “Avoid all empty Remnants. What else?”
“Be serious,” Parker snaps. “This is life or death.”
“How? I’m already dead.”
“Not your soul.”
I pause. Can my soul die?
Parker sits down on the log beside me and takes both my hands in his. His skin is cool against mine. I nearly pull back in surprise. I can feel him. The manly roughness of his touch. The pressure of his weight against mine. The outline of his bones. The blood coursing through his veins. Here, Parker is alive.
I try and think of all the times I’ve touched others in this world. Sadly, I can only remember a few instances. Once when Mary got me to untie her corset. Although my fingers struggled with the knots, I didn’t feel anything. Another time, the crazy dog lady tried to read my palm to tell my future. She said I had a short lifeline. Hardly a fortune. Anyone here could have guessed that accurately. But I remember her skin felt no different from my own.