Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4) (36 page)

Clay turned his head so that I wouldn’t see him crying
but I did anyway. His story was so poignant, so well phrased
that I swear I could feel every bit of that despair. I had to take a
few deep breaths so that I didn’t burst into tears right along
with him.
Now I was starting to understand why he was so
attached to me.
Before we met, he literally had no one.
No
family, no friends. He was in worse shape than I was when I
moved to Charlotte’s Grove. I pulled my sleeves down as far as
I could get them to go and zipped up my jacket to prepare for
the chill that was about to invade me. Then, I reached out for
his hand.

He curled his fingers around mine, just barely skimming
the surface of my skin, but wouldn’t look at me. As the car
came to a stop, he released his ghostly grip and said, “I’m going
to stay in the car.”

“Okay,” I whispered as I tucked my hair into my hood
and dodged out into the rain.
Once the raindrops began to
cover my face, I allowed a few tears to trickle along with them.
At first, they were being shed for Clay. Once I got a good look at
my car, those tears were selfish in nature. My poor Neon was
definitely DOA.

There were so many things wrong with what I was
seeing that I couldn’t find a good starting place to try to process
it all. Although the car was fairly old, the body was in excellent
condition—no dents, scratches, or patches of rust in sight. The
key word there being
was
. The back tires were now flattened
and the windows were smashed. Almost every square inch of it
that was visible to me, was crumpled in like a cheap soda can
that had been squashed underfoot. But even if every piece of
that metal, glass, and rubber could have been replaced, there
was one other reason why that car would never be driven
again. It was half submerged in the lake.

The red and blue lights swirling on top of the police
cruiser bounced wildly off
of the back bumper which was
hanging about five feet into the air. The front half of the car
was resting at the bottom of the murky pool that caught my
attention the last time I was here.
If the Neon had been in the
lake proper, it would have sunk to the bottom and more than
likely would never have been found. I surmised that there was
a reason why it was left openly in shallow water.

It was meant to serve as a warning to me to stay out of
their business—business I’d already decided to steer clear of.
But now I felt like I had no other choice but to tell the police
who I thought had done this to my beloved Neon. By rendering
my car un-drivable, they had in fact driven me to expose them.
I was done cowering down before bullies.
They picked the
wrong girl—and the wrong car—to mess with.
I looked to
Shelly for her opinion just in case I was wrong about this one.
When she nodded affirmatively, I strode up to Officer Parker
confidently.

“Do you have any leads on who might have done this?” I
asked, hoping that he may already know the answer without
me having to give it to him.

“No, Miss Matthews,” he shouted over the sound of the
pounding rain, “We don’t have any suspects at this time.”

 

I took one more glance over my shoulder at my poor car
and then back at Officer Parker. “I think
I
do.”

As I began to recount the story about what I saw on
Spring Avenue and Shane’s and Dylan’s subsequent visit to
Something Wick-ed, California Sun Kissed interrupted.

“You’re going to have to come down to the station to
give that statement. And to explain why you didn’t tell us about
this the first time we questioned you.”

Gone were the winks and the possible flirtation—he
was all business now.
My stomach started doing flip flops.
There was nothing worse than getting caught in a lie. Nothing.
But I knew exactly how I was going to talk myself out of this
one—by telling them the whole truth. Except for the part about
Clay—that piece of information was irrelevant and would make
me look even crazier than I actually was.

On the way to the police station, my dad grilled me
about why I hadn’t spoken up earlier about Shane and Dylan. I
told him the truth—that I thought if I kept my mouth shut, that
they would hold up their end of the bargain. They never really
overtly threatened me—they only offered me a warning and I
chose to take it seriously.
I made what I thought was an adult
decision and—right or wrong—I stood behind it.

“Well,” he said as he pondered my response, “I guess it’s
a whole lot better than what you would have done before—
chase after them yourself.”

What could I say to that? He was right. Handling things
by myself was my first instinct—a behavior pattern that had
gotten me into nothing but trouble in the past. It
did
prove one
thing about me though. I never made the same mistake twice—
I made it about five or six times just to be sure. All I wanted
now was to get out of Charlotte’s Grove alive and hopefully
with a car that could say the same thing. No more tempting fate
for me.

My time at the police station was fairly painless but I
was still exhausted beyond repair by the time I got home. And
wet, freezing wet.
Too freezing wet to care about shopping for
another car, even. The second I got home, I texted Zach and
Rachel in regards to my car’s passing then ran a hot, soapy
tubful of water to relax in. I should have gotten out of the tub
the second I started to yawn but I didn’t. My life was so full of
shouldas that you would think that I would pay closer attention
to my gut feelings by now. Add one more shoulda to that list.

The next thing I knew, I woke up choking and gasping,
the taste of soap still fresh in my mouth.
I could hear Clay
calling me from the other side of the bathroom door. “Ruby,
wake up! Are you okay? Please wake up.”

“I’m awake,” I managed to croak back in response as I
spit more of the unpleasantness out of my mouth. “I’m okay.
I’ll be out in a minute.”

I spared no time getting out of the water—except for
the split second it took for me to pull the plug. The faster I was
out of there and that water was gone, the sooner I would feel
safe again.
What made me want to take a bath in the first
place?
I stopped taking baths after the accident on Destiny
Bridge and swore I would never take one again.
Did I have
some sort of subconscious death wish or something?
Maybe I
was
crazier than I thought I was.

I dried off quickly and threw on the nice, warm hoodie,
yoga pants, and fuzzy socks I’d taken in with me. Usually that
kind of attire made me feel instantly comforted, but not this
time. All I could think about was the night I almost drowned in
the fountain and how close Zach came to not finding me in time.
At least this time around, Clay was right outside my door to
wake me….

Clay.
How exactly did he know that I was asleep?
There were only two possible ways. He either peeked in on me
while I was naked in the tub—in which case he was a skanky
little pervert—or he was in these dreams that I couldn’t
remember and had been all along. That scenario made him a
liar.
Regardless of which of my theories was correct, I was
furious and about to do some serious ghost busting.

“Clayton Roseman!” I shouted with authority before I
even had the bathroom door fully opened. “How did you know
that I was asleep? And don’t even
think
about lying to me!”

He knew he was busted—the look on his face said it all.
That and the fact that his hand was combing furiously through
his hair. He would make a terrible poker player—his tell was
super obvious. He stood there stuttering and apologizing for
not telling me the truth, but failed to tell me what the actual
truth was.

Frustrated and angry, I spat out at him forcefully, “Spill
it, Roseman! What exactly have you been hiding from me?”

“You’ve been dreaming every night, Ruby.
We’ve
been
dreaming every night. And somehow, I’m the reason why you
can’t remember them.” He sat down on my bed and hung his
head like a scolded dog. “Nothing bad happened in any of them,
though, I swear. Scout’s Honor.”

I took a deep breath then gave him a five minute lecture
on why he shouldn’t have lied to me and then once I was calm, I
posed the obvious questions. “What have we been dreaming
about? And why have you been lying to me about it?”

“Every dream has been pretty much the same, Ruby—
only the conversations we have in them seem to change. Every
time, we are walking along a riverbed and talking. There’s
snow everywhere and a white dog on the opposite bank. He
always tries to cross the river but you stop him and that’s when
you wake up. The dream you just had was different, though.
This time, instead of stopping the dog, you tried to meet him
halfway—to guide him over. But something happened and you
started sinking. I did my best to keep your head above water
until I could pull you out.”

My heart sank. I thought those dreams were over. That
dog symbolized Clay. Why was I encouraging him to get closer
to me? It wasn’t what I really wanted. Was it? No, it wasn’t.
What I wanted was for Clay to move on and for Zach and me to
have a happy ending.
But I was disturbed by the fact that I
tried to cross that icy river to help Clay.
And even more
disturbed that I almost died doing it. Life barely made sense to
me at some points.
They say that everything happens for a
reason, that there are answers
you
will never
get in
this
lifetime no matter how much time and energy you expend
chasing
them.
But there was
one question that
could
be
answered for me—if Clay chose to tell me the truth, that is.

“There’s something that I just don’t understand here. If
there wasn’t anything weird going on in these dreams—if you
and I weren’t crossing any of the boundaries that I had set—
why wouldn’t you tell me the truth about them?”

“Because I panicked, okay? Is that a good enough
answer for you? Because I was confused about what was real
and what wasn’t and I still am. Because I was afraid to lose the
feeling that I have when we’re in those dreams. Because I
didn’t want to scare you, either. Things aren’t always as simple
as black versus white, good versus bad, Ruby.”

Whoa. The intensity of his words alone nearly sent me
into an anxiety attack. I didn’t want to hear what he was
keeping from me but I needed to. Calmly, I responded. “I
understand—well, sort of. At least I understand the motivation
behind your lies. But I’m begging you, Clay, please tell me
everything. Starting with how you managed to make me forget
my own dreams.”

Clay fidgeted nervously on my bed, biting his lip and
rocking back and forth before finally jumping up. He paced the
room while he explained what had been happening in my—
our
—dreams.

“That first time I showed up in your dream, I came out
of it feeling—
different
. But I couldn’t figure out what had
changed. Until the first dream with the dog. Ruby, I feel
real
in
your dreams—I feel
alive
. I can feel myself breathing, feel the
sun on my face again.
I never intended to make you not
remember your own dreams—you did that yourself. When I
told you how wonderful it felt to not feel dead anymore, you
told me not to tell you about it when you were awake. You said
that the truth would scare you too much.
intentionally
place
an
immovable
barrier

You set out to
between
your
subconscious and conscious minds. You said that you wanted
your dreams to be a safe haven for me until you helped me find
a way to move on. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

Speechless, I merely covered my mouth with my hand
in shock. There was too much here for me to process. There
was a point in time while I was mourning Lee’s death that I
asked myself a very strange question, one I was sure I would
never hear another living soul pose.
But I was about to hear
those words echo back to me from someone whose soul at least
seemed to be partially alive.

“Think about
this
, Ruby,” Clay begged as he kneeled
down on the floor in front of me so that we were eye to eye.
“What if dreams and reality are the exact opposite of what we
think they are?” “What if this,” he said as he stretched his arm
out and gestured widely around the room, “is a dream? What if
dreams are real?
What if this is our true hell—the things that
we fear the most? What if our immortal souls really live on the
other side of sleep? What if—”

I couldn’t listen to another word. His ideas were so
irrational that I was afraid they could be true. “Stop, Clay! Just
stop! What you’re feeling, what you’re thinking—it’s all a trick
that grief plays on your mind. I had those same thoughts when
Lee died but that’s all they were—thoughts.
They will pass.
Just like mine did. What I think you’re experiencing is
something most people will never have to go through.
I think
you’re mourning your own death.”

“But what if—,” he countered before I rudely cut him
off.

“No. No more ‘what ifs’. You’re dead, Clay, and you
need to accept that. I’ll let you continue to live in my dreams—
for now. But I
will
find a way to send you into the afterlife.
As
soon as humanly possible. For now, you need to leave me alone
for a while. I have a lot of thinking to do and I can’t do it while
you’re throwing these insane theories into my face.”