See Me (21 page)

“So you can criticize me like you always do?” I said, then Jonathan’s words echoed through my head.
Let her see who you are, because the girl I see . . . she’s pretty incredible.
Hearing his phantom voice brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I tucked my face into my pillow.
She’s worried because she cares about you.
Yeah, right. Jonathan didn’t know what he was talking about. “It’s not like you care about me.”

Just like Jonathan didn’t care, or else he wouldn’t have left me. He would have gone into the zombie zone instead of dying. But even as I thought those bitter words, I knew that wasn’t true. He’d let himself pass on for me. Because he thought I deserved more than just a spirit without a body. Only he was wrong. He was
so
wrong. And now the room felt empty because nobody was here to see me.

“Of course I care, honey,” my mom said, her tight voice breaking into my thoughts. She scooted her chair closer. “You just keep pushing me away.”

“Because you don’t see me anymore. Not since Dad left.”

“What are you saying . . .?” Her voice drifted off.

“You don’t want me now that you have your new life.” I sat up, swiping at the tears streaming down my face. Now that I’d admitted my fear to her, the pain inside me spilled over and I wanted to let all of the hurt out. “You have your
new
husband, your
new
child, and it’s like I don’t even exist.”

I’d kept that statement from her for years to avoid an argument about it. Now I waited for her to criticize me. To tell me it was my fault. To ground me like she always did.

Instead, she sat perfectly still. She stared at me with her gray-blue eyes, the exact same shade as mine. Then she leaned forward. “I see you, Amy.”

My throat turned raw, and I shook my head. “You don’t.”

“Yes,” she said, firmly. “I
always
see you. I saw how hard it was for you when your dad left. How you hid in your room, pushing me away. I saw you when I married your stepdad. You tore up the bridesmaid dress I’d bought for you, wanting no part of that special day. I saw you when your little brother was born, and you refused to go to the brother-sister photo session I’d arranged. I saw how in pain you were.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but there was nothing I could say. Listening to my mom,
really
listening, made me see everything through her eyes. And the view looked totally different.

“I saw you when your dad got that traveling photographer job at the beginning of your freshman year. I saw how you changed then, and you completely shut everyone out. I saw
you
. I saw how afraid you were and how you’d shut all the doors. What you didn’t see was
me
.” Her voice wavered, but she inhaled deeply and went on. “You never saw me call your teachers when your grades dropped. You never saw how scared I was when you stayed out late, and I didn’t know if you were safe or not. You didn’t see how worried I was yesterday when I found the contents from your backpack scattered over the kitchen floor.”

My head spun, and I grabbed the edge of the bed for support. “But you always say I’m wasting my potential,” I said, absolutely and totally confused. “You seem to only see my failures.”

She shook her head. “That’s how you’ve seen things, but you aren’t really seeing what’s true. Yes, I encourage you to fulfill your potential because I see how brilliant you are. I want you to succeed, and to have everything you want in life. Amy, trust me, see me, and believe that I know who you are.” She paused, looking at me,
seeing
me. “You’re my little girl. And I love you.”

A sob rolled through me. I was unable to stop it, so I held my arms up liked I’d done when I was little. “I love you too, Mommy.”

She enveloped me in her arms, and a cushion of comfort surrounded me. “I’ll always be here for you. You can talk to me.”

I buried my face deep in her shoulder, hot tears streaming down my face. I’d had everything wrong. I’d seen Alex as the ultimate guy when he hadn’t even bothered to get to know me. I’d thought Owen was this total geek wad—which, okay, he kind of was—but he was also a good friend. I’d viewed my brother as competition when all he ever wanted was my attention.

Wow. The truth was that I never saw myself, but I’d been hiding who I was from everyone—except Jonathan. I’d risked my heart, opened up to him, and for our brief time together . . . it had been wonderful. Taking a deep breath, I pulled back from my mom, and knew I had to do the same with her.

“My friend died today,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, honey.” She ran her hand over my head. “This is a different friend from yesterday?”

I shook my head, hoping she didn’t think I was crazy. “It’s the same guy, actually. Jonathan Jacob Miller. His dad’s the creator of the
Maisy’s Meow
comics.” I glanced at the
Maisy’s Meow
book that sat on my nightstand, and I pulled it onto my lap. “He was in a fatal car accident last Friday, but he had an out-of-body experience right before the vehicles crashed. So his spirit didn’t die with his body and pass on. For some reason, his spirit was sent to me.”

I glanced up at my mom, whose face had gone white.

My stomach coiled, but I kept going. “He zombied—um . . .
occupied
my friend yesterday so he could ask for my help. We went to the cemetery yesterday to dig up his body, so his spirit could go back in and bring it to life. But his sister was at the cemetery, and she told us her dad had cremated Jonathan against her mom’s wishes. Apparently they’re getting divorced now,” I said, then realized that was slightly off the point. “Tonight we broke into a secret warehouse where this private company is creating artificial bodies to sell to the military. We figured they had so many of those artificial bodies and we only needed one.”

Fresh tears burned as the event’s replayed in my mind.

“So Jonathan zombied the artificial body, and it worked. He finally had a body he could live his life in because his own body was ashes. But the company had a tracking device on the body or something. They found us. They thought the artificial body had malfunctioned and was dangerous. S-So they
killed
him,” I said, choking out the last words. “I only knew him a few days, but . . . I loved him.”

“Oh, Amy,” my mom said quietly.

“I know you don’t believe me—I mean, it’s kind of impossible to believe what I’ve said, but I promise I’m not hallucinating. It’s all true.”

Her hand shook as she placed it over her mouth. “I know. I believe you.”

“You do?” I asked, seriously shocked. Although we’d just had a great heart-to-heart, the story sounded crazy even to my ears.

“Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” She lifted my hand, placing it between both of hers. “They brought your friend Jonathan into the ICU last Friday while I was at work. He was in my care.”

My eyes bulged. “You were there when they turned off his life support?”

“No,” she said, peering into my eyes. “I’m probably going to be fired for telling you this, but Jonathan’s mother is strongly opposed to artificially preserving life.”

“I know,” I said, remembering what Danielle had told me. “His mom made his dad pull the plug on his life support. Then his dad had him cremated.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Jacob Miller only
told
her he’d cremated their son, because she’d insisted on having an open casket at the funeral, but they couldn’t have an open casket because . . . Jacob Miller lied to his wife. His son has been in a coma since Friday and he never turned off life support. The doctors say he only has superficial injuries, and they can’t figure out why his body’s unresponsive. Jacob isn’t ready to let him go, though. He’s been sitting with him day and night, hoping he’ll wake up.”

My heart stopped. “Are you saying . . .”

“Yes.” She squeezed my hand. “Jonathan Miller’s body is alive, but in a coma and on life support. I’d be getting myself into even more trouble, but I can take you to him right now if you’d like. He’s in the ICU.”

I felt dazed. The entire time I was with Jonathan’s spirit my mom had been taking care of his body. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I gazed down at the
Maisy’s Meow
cover in my lap. The kitty with the long whiskers stared back at me—as if trying to tell me something. But what?

I jumped off the bed. “Thanks, but I have to call someone else.”

My mom gave me a look of understanding. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I smiled up at her gratefully as she backed away, letting me have my space. Then I reached into my back pocket for my cell phone, and scrolled through my contacts. Finding the name I was looking for, I dialed, then waited as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Owen said, in a gravelly voice.

“It’s Amy,” I said, relieved that he’d answered. “Get over here as fast as you can and pick me up. We need a new plan. Jonathan’s body is alive—but in a coma—at San Felipe Medical Center.”

****

Owen made it to my house surprisingly fast, considering the guy refused to drive over the speed limit. He picked me up in his truck and we were on our way to San Felipe Medical Center, which was only fifteen minutes away.

Jonathan’s body was alive. I still had a hard time wrapping my mind around the notion, but my feelings were definitely onboard because my stomach was roiling with nausea and my heart rate pulsed out of control.

I squeezed the
Maisy’s Meow
book in my hand as Owen drove down the street at a snail’s pace. “Come on, Owen. Can’t you drive any faster?”

“The posted speed limit is twenty-five.” He gestured to the white sign, the black numbers “25” staring at me mockingly. “If I get pulled over for a speeding ticket that will increase our drive time more than if I’d driven at the appropriate speed to begin with.”

“Why must you torment me with your annoying logic?” I coiled in the front seat, ready to pounce and take control of the steering wheel as he slowed for a stop sign. “Just run the freaking stop sign, Owen.”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’d be even more frustrated with me if we got in a car accident due to me driving recklessly. Now bring me up to speed. How is Jonathan’s body alive, although comatose, at San Felipe Medical Center when he was supposedly cremated on Friday?”

“His dad totally lied to his mom.” I threw up my hands, still unable to believe it. “Jonathan told me the man always does what his wife says. Even his comic series is about keeping the high-maintenance woman happy. But when it came down to letting his son go . . . apparently he just couldn’t do it.”

“So he faked a funeral so his wife wouldn’t keep demanding that he turn off the life support?” Owen made a right turn. “It’s dishonest, but logical. If his son passes away in the end, then nobody would ever have to know the funeral was premature.”

I tightened my grip on the book. “He’s
not
going to pass away. We’ll make sure of that.”

Owen gave me a side-glance. “How, exactly?”

“You’re the one who told me that spirits cross over when the body dies,” I reminded him. “But his spirit couldn’t have crossed over—like we’d thought—because his body is still alive, and has been alive the entire time.”

“I hate to point this out, but he was in a body that died,” Owen said, quietly.

I shook my head. “Not
his
body.”

“True.” Owen’s tone held an edge of sadness. “But life support most likely indicates a lack of brain activity. He may be forever dead.”

“My mom says the doctors don’t know why his body’s not responding. So maybe his body’s in a coma because his spirit detached,” I said, refusing to believe this was a wild chase when every part of my being told me there was still hope. “There’s a reason Jonathan was sent to me after his car accident. A bigger reason we just don’t understand yet.”

“Maybe he had unfinished business,” Owen suggested, as he turned down another street. “Isn’t that usually the reason spirits stick around?”

My gaze dropped to my lap, to the cat on the cover of my
Maisy’s Meow
book, and Maisy’s pretty green eyes stared back at me knowingly. Her hubby cat sat in the background almost unnoticed, and I ran my finger over his whiskers, something niggling in the back of my mind.

Suddenly, I remembered Jonathan’s argument with his dad. Jonathan’s words of regret that he could never take back. The inscribed first edition of
Maisy’s Meow
he’d given away out of hurt. . . The
same
edition of the book I’d picked up at the thrift store after school last Friday.

Chills vibrated through me. I held my breath, wondering if it was really possible that I’d selected the very book needed to ease Jonathan’s spirit. I opened the book, turned to the title page, and gasped. A hand-written inscription said:

My dearest son . . . you will always be my greatest creation. Love, Dad

“What is it?” Owen’s asked.

“This is Jonathan’s unfinished business.” I held up the inscription even though he couldn’t exactly read it while driving. “Remember when Jonathan told us he got in that argument with his dad? That he’d given away the first edition of
Maisy’s Meow
his dad had inscribed and given to him? This is
that
book.”

His mouth opened slightly. “That’s amazing.”

Coming from a guy who believed in UFOs and what-not, I took his astonishment as a huge compliment. “Since this is obviously the reason Jonathan’s spirit vacated his body—the fear that he’d hurt his dad forever by giving this away—then his spirit
must
still be around. We just need to figure out a way to get him back into his real body.”

Owen’s expression brightened. “That makes logical sense.”

“Then it’s a plan.” I smiled, feeling secure in my thinking now that Owen had validated it.

The theme song from the
Twilight Zone
started playing. Owen lifted his cell from his back pocket, scanned the screen, then set his phone down. “Hmm. . . Caller Identification notes that a Danielle Miller is calling.”