2 Empath

HAWAIIAN SHADOWS

Book Two:
EMPATH

Copyright © 2013 by Edie Claire

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Dedication

To my own personal Zane — who couldn’t surf if his life depended on it, but who can always make me laugh.

Chapter 1

Author’s Note:
This book is the second in a series. It would really,
really
be a whole lot more fun to read if you’ve already read the first one,
Wraith
. Reading out of order would be a serious spoiler. So please, check out the first one first. I promise you’ll be glad you did!

Explaining everything to my parents was probably the weirdest, most awkward conversation I’d ever had, and for me that was really saying something.

“You see
what?”
my dad exclaimed. His jaw muscles tensed, his eyes widened, and the little blue vein over his left temple popped out and throbbed like it was ready to burst. The look had brought many a quivering airman to his knees over the course of Mitch Thompson’s military career. But since I knew my father’s relatively rare explosions to be all bluster, I didn’t bat an eyelash.

“I see dead people,” I repeated. “Not corpses walking around, like in horror movies. What I see are shadows — a playback of what the people looked like when they were alive. Scenes of people doing things in a particular place at a particular time. Maybe twenty years ago, maybe two hundred. The older ones are fainter, but they’re kind of all mixed together.”

My father, who had jumped to his feet at the first line of my confession, loomed over me stiff as a statue, his bottom jaw now hanging limply. My mother sat motionless on the motel bed across from me, her face pale and her eyes frightened.

Fabulous.
It was happening all over again.

I was seventeen now, but the first time, when I was five, I hadn’t thought that telling my parents what I saw would be that big of a deal. I assumed that all the kindergartners at the base could see multiple sets of children milling around the classroom, some solid and normal, others wispy and vague. The vague ones never talked to me and didn’t seem to know I was there, so basically I ignored them. But there were other shadow people, pretty much everywhere I looked, and some were harder to ignore than others. Some of them frightened me.

I can’t remember a time when I
didn’t
see the shadows, but I do remember my earliest attempts at trying to explain them. Like the time when I was three and my mother took me to see a movie, and I refused to sit in the seat she had chosen because a man was already sitting in it. She assured me the seat was empty. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with her eyes.

Or the time when I was four and we lived in Biloxi, Mississippi, and my father took us to the Civil War battlefield at Vicksburg, and I spent the entire time screaming and trying to get back in the car. My father was so upset he threatened to spank me, but I couldn’t care less about a smack on the butt, even if he had been serious. I’d never seen a place so horribly dangerous and frightening and gruesome and bloody — I couldn’t believe they would take me there and tell me with a straight face that it was perfectly safe.

Were they nuts? Was
everyone
nuts?

Apparently, no. Only I was. Or so my parents came to believe after the third or fourth counselor/therapist/psychiatrist told them I was showing signs of severe psychosis.

That
was what happened the last time I tried doing this.

Yet here we were again. And I couldn’t back out now. I had promised Zane.

“You talked about seeing shadow people before,” my mother said breathlessly. “Back when you were little. But then it stopped.” Her voice was a plea.

I shook my head slowly. “No, Mom. I only
told
you that it stopped. I told you that because you guys were so scared and freaked out. I figured if I just stopped talking about it, that maybe everything would go back to normal in our lives. And it did.”

My father dropped back down onto the bed with a plop. They bounced together in silence for a while, their faces as white as the sheets.

“I’ve always seen the shadows,” I continued. Then I shrugged. “I just learned to live with them.”

Another awkward silence.

It was my dad who finally cleared his throat and spoke. “But…” he said haltingly, “You seem perfectly fine!”

I allowed myself a smile. “I am perfectly fine, Dad. It’s not a mental illness. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not that.” I looked from one to the other. My heart pounded in my chest. “I need you to believe me.”

“Of course we believe you, Kali,” my mother said quickly. “We always believed you.”

“But you thought it was all in my head,” I reminded. “And it’s not. I have proof of that now.”

My dad was all over that one. “Proof?” he said, perking up. “What kind of proof?”

“This is about
him,
isn’t it?” my mother asked before I could answer. “The boy who’s in the hospital?”

I nodded.

“Wait a minute!” my dad exclaimed with frustration, “Back up and make some sense, would you? One minute we’re all happy as clams picking out a house in Oahu, the next minute you say that a boy you know has been in a serious car accident and off you go on the next flight home to Wyoming… your mother and I end our vacation early to come chasing you all the way out here to the middle of Nebraska so you can see him before he dies, never mind that we’ve never even
heard
of this boy before… and I still don’t get what any of that has to do with your seeing” — he nearly choked —
“dead people.”

“Everything,” I said quietly.

“What proof do you have?” he repeated.

My mom laid a hand on his arm. “Mitch,” she said knowingly, “just let her talk.”

And so I did. I began with my first days of spring break in Hawaii, how I had enjoyed just lying on the beach on the North Shore and watching the waves. I saw shadows there, as usual. I ignored them, as usual. But then I ran into one who was unusual. One who could see and interact with
me.
His form was more solid than the rest of the shadows, although still transparent in places. He could change his appearance, move anywhere at any speed, walk through walls. But he was confused and lonely, because he had no idea who he was or even why he was there. And until he met me, not a single other soul had been able to see him. It was as if he were invisible.

“So he was dead,” my dad interrupted. “Is he still dead?”

“Mitch!” My mom chastised.

“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Keep talking, honey. I’m listening.”

“He was in a coma,” I explained, my voice shaking a little, just thinking about it. “The day I met him… in Oahu, I mean… he was very close to death. He lost a lot of blood in the car crash, and the doctors didn’t think he would make it. He had what I guess you’d call an ‘out of body’ experience. Physically he was in a hospital in Nebraska, but his soul, or his spirit or his consciousness or whatever you want to call it, went on to finish the trip he had started. He wanted so desperately to get to Oahu… his life’s passion was to surf on the North Shore, and that’s where his spirit went.”

My dad put a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my,” he moaned. “This is way out of my league, Diane.”

“Just chill, Mitch,” my mom said shortly. “I’ve heard of such a thing before.” Her words and tone were supportive, but her face was creased with worry. “I’ve never believed it,” she continued, “but I’ve heard of it before.”

“Mom,” I pleaded. “I probably wouldn’t believe it either. But I don’t have a choice.” I tried to catch my dad’s eyes, but he avoided me. “Zane’s physical body has never left the mainland,” I continued. “He started driving in New Jersey, headed for California, and he got as far as Nebraska before the accident. He’s been in a hospital bed here ever since. But I
saw
and talked to him in Oahu. For days. Right before he… faded away from me, he remembered some things about the accident — the accident we both thought, then, had killed him. When I realized he might
not
be dead, those details helped Tara find him for me. I knew things about the accident that no one else could have known… because he was still in a coma when I got here.”

My dad’s pained face turned toward me. “Has he come out of it yet?”

I felt a clenching in my chest. “Yes,” I answered, my voice cracking again. “He woke up while I was with him.” Those few, beautiful moments after he had first woken up, when I was alone with him, already seemed like years ago. Once I alerted the staff, his room had become Grand Central Station. There were examinations, tests, consults… I had been asked to leave. I’d moved to the lobby and waited for hours; finally I had fallen asleep. Between my last, sleepless night in Oahu, the flight across the ocean, and crushing jet lag, I had lost all sense of time. I still didn’t know exactly how many hours I’d lain unconscious on that plastic couch before realizing I’d missed about a dozen calls… including the one from my parents saying that they had checked into a motel in Kearney, where my friend Tara had sent me, and where the hell was I?

“So he confirmed it then?” my dad pressed. “He said he had been in Oahu?”

Hot moisture welled up behind my eyes. They had no idea how hard this was for me. “Not exactly,” I admitted, my voice weak. “He… he had a head injury and he was in a coma… his memory is foggy. He may remember it soon. But I don’t know.”

I was trying, really hard, not to totally freak out about Zane’s loss of memory. We had shared so much in those magical days in Hawaii… even though I thought he was dead at the time. Finding him alive had been the most wonderful surprise of my life — and I was determined not to let his lack of memory bring me down. He was alive, he was going to get better, and he even said that I looked familiar to him… sort of. I had no reason to worry. We would have plenty of time to get reacquainted.

Which was a good thing, since I was hopelessly, madly in love with him.

So what if his first words to me when he woke up were, “Who are you?”

Everything would be fine. It had to be.

“There’s a guy playing a guitar right there,” I said mechanically, gesturing toward the pillows of the bed they were sitting on.

My parents’ heads swiveled slowly to where I pointed, then back again. “What do you mean?” my mother whispered.

I sighed. “A shadow. He’s wearing a really ugly shirt with fringe on it, his hair is long and greasy, and he’s picking away at a guitar. He seems really happy. I think he’s writing a song.” I looked around the modest room. “This motel’s probably been here since what, the sixties? The beds must have been in the same place then. When buildings get remodeled, the shadows pop up in some strange places. They seem to be tied to their original locations in space, no matter what’s happened since.”

I couldn’t bear to see their reaction to that info dump, so I kept my eyes on the guitar player. “It feels really awkward talking about this, after keeping it a secret for so long. But I got a little practice at honesty with Zane — he wanted to know all about the shadows, and I told him. He couldn’t see them either, but he thought it was wrong for me to spend my whole life lying about them… particularly to you. Before he left me in Oahu, he made me promise to tell you the truth.”

I took a breath and steeled myself to meet their gaze again. “So here we are!” I finished with fake cheer, giving myself a little bounce on the mattress.

My parents ogled me like hooked fish. Open mouths, bulging eyes. They had scooted to the foot of the bed, as far as possible from where I had pointed out the shadow. My father was nearly pushing my mother off the edge.

I had to grin. “There’s nothing scary about that one,” I assured. “They’re just people. Or at least they
were
people. Sometimes I can sense their emotions, too. That guy’s really happy at the moment. Despite his lame taste in clothes.”

My mother swallowed painfully. “Fringed shirts were in style in the sixties,” she croaked.

I chuckled. “Mom,” I protested, looking at the shadow’s skin-tight, striped polyester pants, which ended a good six inches above his bare ankles. “I promise, what this guy is wearing was
never
in style.”

“I can’t believe you two are talking about clothes!” my dad barked, standing up again and moving away from the bed. “We have to talk about this… this
thing.
We have to figure out what to do!”

“There’s nothing
to
do, Mitch,” my mother said reasonably. Her voice was still rough, but she did seem to be getting some of her color back. “Whatever this is, Kali has already figured out herself how to deal with it. She just needs our support.”