Remember Me (18 page)

Jo called for a vote. Daniel was the only one who was opposed. The others went along.

They moved to the kitchen table. Jo lit a candle and turned down the lights, handing Jimmy a paper and pencil to keep notes. That surprised me, since he had obviously been closer to me than anybody.

Perhaps Jo felt he was too upset to act as a medium, I thought. Jimmy did not appear to mind his role. The Ouija board was placed in the center of the table, and Jo instructed everyone to lightly rest the fingertips of one hand on the planchette. Daniel continued to be stubborn.

"I'd rather watch," he said.

"And I'd rather you joined us," Jo said. "I want the same group mind we had at the party."

"The same what?" Beth asked.

"It won't hurt you," Jo told Daniel.

He finally gave in. I strode back to Peter, who was still on top of the TV. "I am getting tired of your vagueness," I said.

"Why don't we see what they come up with on their own before we interfere," he said.

"They won't come up with anything. How do we interfere?"

Peter stood. "You have to put your hands inside their hands."

"Inside? I can't do that."

"You could if you really wanted to," Peter said.

"Come in here," I said, taking him by the arm. The session was already under way. The planchette was coasting wildly over the board beneath their fingers.

Jo was the only one who had two hands on the plastic indicator. Jeff still had a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Who's there?" Jo asked.

"Peter and Shari," I said loudly.

The planchette continued to roll in meaningless circles

"Who's doing this?" Daniel asked.

"I'm not," Amanda said.

"You're making it move," Daniel accused Jo.

"Shh," Beth said.

"Give it a few minutes," Jo said. She asked again, "Who's there?"

The indicator looped over the letters for a minute more before beginning to swing in an arc between YES and NO. It was amazing how fast it moved.

"Is anybody there?" Jo asked. "Shari?"

"They'll quit soon if we don't answer," I said to Peter, beginning to panic. "Do something!"

"You can do it, if you must," Peter said. "Blend your hands in with theirs. If they don't resist, you should be able to steer the indicator where you want."

"I can't," I said. "You saw what happened when I tried to walk through the bench. If I put my flesh inside theirs ... "

I shuddered at the thought. "I might start bleeding."

"You don't have any blood," Peter said.

"This is stupid," Daniel remarked.

"Why aren't you helping me?" I pleaded.

Peter looked me straight in the face. "It's what I've been trying to tell you all along. The dead shouldn't mingle with the living. It only leads to problems."

"But you mingled," I said in a cold voice. "More than once. Why did Beth feel so weird when Jo used the magnet on her? Was it because you merged your legs with hers? Was it because you were inside her?"

Peter hesitated, then nodded. "You're very perceptive. I used to think that even when we were both alive."

"Please answer if you can, Shari," Jo said as the planchette swung back and forth like a dead man at the end of a short rope.

"Then it's true," I said.

"Yes," Peter said.

It made little sense, but it was only then, when I no longer trusted him, and when I ached because of it, that I realized how much he meant to me. "Did what you do have anything to do with how I died?" I asked, so softly that even a ghost might not have heard.

"I don't think so, Shari." He lowered his head. "I don't know for sure, but I really don't think so."

"I'm getting a headache," Beth said.

"We should stop," Daniel said.

"Do it," I ordered Peter, pointing to the board. "I think you owe me."

Peter sighed and moved to the table, standing between Jo and Jeff. As he plunged his hands into the others, I felt my guts heave, even though I probably didn't have any of those, either. Yet it was fascinating to watch. Faint blue sparks flickered in the places where his fingers moved in and out of the groups.

He directed the planchette toward the happy-face sun in the corner of the board.

It followed his direction.

"Something's happening," Jo said, excited.

"Who's doing this?" Daniel asked.

"Shut up," Jeff said, taking his cigarette from his mouth and grinding it out in the glass tray that held the candle. It was a green candle this time, but on my side of the mirror the flame looked more silvery than orange, more like ice than fire. The indicator stopped above the sun. I stepped to Peter's side.

"Who's there?" Jo asked.

"Spell my name," I told him.

"I'll try," he said.

"It's coming," Jo said. "S—H—E—R—"

"No!" I shouted. "Goddamnit, Peter! It's Shari with an a. "

"How should I know?"

"It was on my tombstone, for Christ's sake," I said.

"Your tombstone isn't up yet," Peter said.

"In biology, the whole stupid year we were partners, it was written in big block letters on my lab notebook!"

"What's wrong?" Jimmy asked, clenching his pencil tightly.

"It's stopped," Jo said.

"Start over," I said. "No, finish it. Then spell out your name."

"We have to concentrate harder," Jo said.

"Oh, no," Peter said.

"What?" I asked.

"When they strain, they block me out," Peter said, shifting his hands so that they overlapped as many living fingers as possible. The faint blue sparks brightened and took on a purple tinge. The planchette began to move again.

"Something's wrong," he muttered.

"Are you being blocked?" I asked.

"I don't—" Peter began.

"P—E—T—E—R," Jo spelled out loud.

"It's working," I said.

Peter frowned, started to speak, then stopped.

"Peter," Jo said. "Is that you?"

The planchette swung to YES.

"Is Shari there?" Jo asked.

The planchette circled the YES.

Jo smiled. "I told you guys."

"We could be making this happen," Jeff said, doubtful.

"Tell them hello for me," I said, excited. "Tell them I'm all right and that I didn't kill myself."

"This is real," Jo said.

"I don't know," Peter said, still frowning.

"You do it!" I said.

"Ask how Shari is," Jimmy said, his eyes big.

"Shari," Jo said. "Are you all right?"

The planchette went to NO.

"Peter!" I cried.

"It's not me," he said.

"What's wrong with her?" Jimmy asked.

"We have to be careful how we phrase our questions," Jo said. "Naturally, as far as we're concerned, she's not all right. She's dead."

"Ask if Shari and Peter are together," Jimmy said.

"We've already asked that," Daniel said, and there could have been a twinge of jealousy in his voice. "It said yeah."

"Ask again," Jeff said.

"Shari," Jo said. "Is Peter there with you?"

The planchette glided to YES.

"Good," I said.

"No," Peter said.

"What is it?" I said. "Don't stop."

Peter took his hands out of the others, put them back in, trying, so it seemed, to get a better grip on the situation.

"There is another force at work here," he said.

"Where are you?" Jeff asked directly, bypassing Jo.

"T—O—G—E—T—H—E—R," Jo spelled out.

"Good," I said. "Tell them we're happy."

"Where are you together?" Jeff asked. "Is it a place?"

The planchette went to NO.

"Where?" Jeff insisted.

"B—U—R—N—I—N—G," Jo said and winced.

"What?"

"Burning," Jimmy said softly, staring at the candle.

"No!" I yelled at Peter. "Stop it!"

Peter did not respond. He was struggling with the planchette. Tiny sparks cracked at the tips of his fingers—I could hear them as well as see them. But the indicator kept moving.

"H—E—L—L," Jo said slowly.

"Hell," Beth whispered. "Burning in hell."

I should not have exploded at Peter right then. I could see he was having trouble directing the planchette. I knew he would not have willfully tried to hurt either me or Jimmy. I suppose his admission of having used my body was still bothering me. Also, when I saw Jimmy, his face pinched and withdrawn, suddenly stand and run from the room, I lost all control.

"You bastard!" I yelled. "Look what you've done!"

"I didn't write that," he protested, removing his hands from the planchette. As if it had become too hot to touch, the others did likewise. Amanda pushed away from the table and went after my brother.

"Don't suicides always go to hell?" Daniel asked.

"My brother didn't kill himself," Jeff said to Jo, disgusted, knocking the board off the table, almost knocking the burning candle onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," Jo said miserably.

"You did it on purpose!" I screamed at Peter.

"No," he said.

Jimmy was already out of the house. Amanda had her hand on the front door as I turned after her. She slammed the door shut behind her. Fortunately, it bounced open, and I was able to get outside. I followed her down the driveway.

Jimmy wasn't in his car. Amanda searched up and down the dark street but couldn't find him. She didn't have my magical eyes. I could see him running fast beneath the shadows of the oak branches that hung like tired arms over the deserted sidewalk. I knew how foolish he could be when he was upset, and I feared for his safety. I went after him.

But I never reached him.

The faster I chased my brother, the slower I appeared to move, and the greater my anxiety became. I was trapped in the nightmare again where I was fleeing from the monster with the scales, claws, and dripping teeth. Only now the monster was in front of me.

It came out of my brother. One instant my eyes were focused on the clear outline of Jimmy's back, and the next the outline blurred into a whirling vortex of dust and pain.

A pair of gaping green holes in place of eyes peered at me from deep inside it.

It was the Shadow.

I stopped dead on the street. Yes, I was dead in this arena, it seemed to say to me, while it was very much alive.

It was still strong and powerful while I was only a shadow of my former self. It was hungry, and I was easy pickings.

I turned to flee but tripped over a mound of unsettled earth that shouldn't have been there.

I landed in a terrible place. The sidewalk was gone. I was back in the cemetery, my hands buried in the mud that covered my dead body. I raised my head and glanced over my shoulder to see if my assailant had followed me in my leap through space. But the cemetery was empty. I saw only a rectangular tombstone standing tall at the foot of my grave: SHARI ANN

COOPER.

My name was carved on the top in red block letters. The stone shone a faint purple, and as I watched, it began to clear, like a mirror as the dust is wiped away. I stood, brushing off the dirt that I imagined would have stained my pants if I'd fallen wearing real pants. I knew my tombstone couldn't be up yet, not the night after my funeral, but more than anything else I had encountered since I had gone over the balcony, the stone looked real to me.

It continued to clear, to brighten with the purple light, and my name began to dissolve. It was a mirror. I could see myself in it. I couldn't look away. I looked as I had the hour before the party when I had stood half dressed before the mirror in my bedroom with my broken brush in my right hand. And I had thought I had problems then.

Then I began to change. I started to get younger. I looked as I had when I entered high school, my hair long and straight, braces on my crooked teeth.

The image held for only a moment; the march back through time continued.

Suddenly, I was twelve years old, skinny, and tan as a deer from a summer of swimming in the Gulf of Mexico at my uncle's house in Mississippi. Then I was only five years old and had a joyful gleam in my eyes that I would lose the following year when I entered school.

The years rocketed quickly backward until I was a healthy pink baby sleeping in a white crib. Here the picture froze, inviting my inspection. I leaned closer. A hand was entering the scene from the side. It was a big hand, with red nails as long and sharp as claws. It grabbed my infant form. I screamed.

It was a trap. The light of the mirror died. The tombstone vanished. The Shadow stood in its place. It had a hand out to grab me. I screamed and turned and fled.

"It's awful. It's the most awful thing. "

I remembered Peter's warning as I ran down the hill from where I had been buried, and my fear was a knife in my heart. Leaping over a tombstone, I tripped on the steep hill and went sprawling, striking my nose hard on the ground. A bolt of pain exploded in my head. The sound of the Shadow's slobbering breath filled my ears. I scampered to my feet, my lungs burning on the ethereal night air. It was getting closer.

"Peter!" I cried. "Help me!"

He did not appear. I knew I had to get out of the cemetery.

If the Shadow caught me in this wasteland of memories and grief, I knew it would drag me under the earth and imprison me in my coffin, where I would be forced to watch the rot of my body for the next hundred years. It knew what frightened me most.

I didn't pause to ask myself how we understood each other's minds so well.

I got as far as the fence that surrounded the cemetery. The black poles and bars that made up the barrier were tall and slippery, crowned at the top with a row of spikes that would have made the most adventurous young lad decide on another place to play. I leaped up and caught hold of a narrow bar a few feet above my head. For several seconds I struggled to pull myself up, my feet thrashing uselessly against the smooth metal. Then I lost my grip and fell into a rose bush ripe with petals of red and thorns of pain. They only cut me because my mind let them, Peter would have said, but they cut me nevertheless.

"Shari."

The word came out like the hiss of a snake as the Shadow halted approximately ten yards from the fence and held out its hand to me. It wasn't an ordinary hand with fingers and a thumb.