The Ghost Runner (16 page)

T
he Lithia Theater Company offers free performances before the main shows—musicians, comedy troupes, dancers. The performances are held in a grassy courtyard bordered by all three theaters. People gather on the green on picnic blankets or stand along the cobblestone walkways that surround the park as they listen to the bands or watch the dancers.

I'm one of those lingering around in the back—I'm hoping to find Roman around the theater somewhere. He doesn't have a cell phone or any other way for me to get in touch with him, and he hasn't yet checked in to the Lithia Springs Hotel. Even though it's evening, the weather is still blazingly hot, and I can smell the parched grasses from the fields across the valley.

On the stage is a couple from one of the season's musicals, singing a duet. I watch them with both appreciation and envy. They worked so hard to get to where they are—the countless rehearsals, the rejections along the way. They stuck with it, and here they are.

And me? I'm in the audience, which is where I'll be at the Lithia College production of
Measure for Measure
. I know that Nate had no choice but to drop me from the play. Yet I can't help turning the situation over and over again in my head, looking for a way to fix what I broke. It's not that I want to excuse what I did. I just want another chance.

Roman had told me he would resort to begging to get his job back. Maybe I should do the same. Maybe I should have refused to leave Nate's office that day. But the shame of it—I can't go back now and beg. What if Nate just sits there and dismisses me like before? I don't know if I could handle another rejection at this point.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Alex, his co-op badge still on his T-shirt, as if he's just gotten off work. “Sorry,” he whispers, careful not to disturb the show in progress.

I motion to an alcove, and we step away from the crowd. When we are alone, I begin to speak but he cuts me off with a big hug. A hug is just what I need right now—Alex has always been so good at comforting me. My eyes fill with tears, and I don't let go of him for the longest time. We just stand there, in a warm embrace, as hundreds of people with their backs to us watch the show.

When I pull back, he is smiling.

“I hope you can forgive me, Alex. I didn't mean for any of this to happen.”

“I've thought a lot about it, Kat. I've made my own mistakes, as you know. I have no right to judge you after what I did.”

“But you couldn't help who you were back then,” I say. “What I did—”

He holds up a hand. “You did the best you could with what you knew,” he says. “That's all anyone can do. Listen, being angry takes up too much energy. I just want to forgive and move on.”

“You? I'm the one who should be asking for forgiveness.”

“Of course I forgive you. You were up against some evil people, and you didn't know. Honestly, I might have made the same mistake if I were in your shoes.”

“I doubt it.”

“Just don't blame yourself anymore, okay? Because I don't.”

“Okay.”

“Things have been so crazy between us lately,” he says softly. “I miss you, Kat.”

“I miss you, too.” I really have.

Alex leans in to kiss me, but I pull back.

“I'm sorry, Alex.”

“I know, too soon, too soon.”

“It's not that.” I don't know how to tell him what I need to say.

“Then what is it?” he asks.

“Roman is back in Lithia.”

Alex's smile disappears.

“What's he doing here?”

“He wants his job back.”

“That's not all he wants,” Alex says, and I say nothing. I don't want to fuel the fire by confirming Alex's fear, though I think we both know the truth at this point.

“For what it's worth,” I add, “Roman is vegan now.”

“He's what?”

“He says he's been on a plant-based diet for more than a month.”

“Roman would tell you anything, Kat.”

“I know you believe that. And I know I've been way too trusting of people lately. But I do believe Roman.”

“It won't last.”

“I think it will. And I'm proud of him. You should be, too. Isn't this good news for everyone?”

“I guess. But I have to admit I'm more shocked than proud. I thought I'd see hell freeze over before seeing Roman change his diet.” Then he looks me in the eye. “So are you two an item now?”

“No. I mean, I don't know anything right now. I just want to be honest with you and with everyone. About everything. My life has been a nightmare. I'm flunking my class, and I lost my part in the play. Right now I just want to put my life back together again, as much as I can.”

“I understand,” he says. He looks disappointed, and I have to admit that I am, too. I wish things could be clearer for me where Alex and Roman are concerned—but they never have been. And now that Roman's a vegan, I'm more confused than ever about what, and who, I want.

“Listen, I have a meeting to get to,” Alex says, “but this land situation—it's not over yet.”

“I know,” I say. “I'm still trying to figure something out.”

“Before you do anything else,” Alex says, “you promise you'll call me first?”

“Of course.”

He turns to leave, but I reach out and grab him.

“Can I ask you a question about something?”

“Sure.”

“Remember our talk about ghosts?” I say. “How I told you I'd seen a running ghost?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it Stacey?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I think you know who it is.”

Alex hesitates.

“Alex, I want you to be honest with me.”

“The ghost is not Stacey.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just know. But I can't tell you who it is. That you need to find out for yourself.”

“How?”

Alex is already backing away.

“Alex, wait. Can't you tell me?”

“Find her, Kat. Ask her yourself.” He takes a few more steps away, then turns and disappears into the crowd.

Why won't he tell me?

I shake my head, annoyed. It's not like Alex to keep secrets. Unless—

Unless it's because I already know.

Could it be? I don't dare to believe that the ghost runner is who I think she is.

There is only one way to find out. As Alex said, I have to ask her myself. Which means going back to the trail.

I look at my watch, then look up toward the hills. I'm tempted to head up there right now, but already it's getting dark. And I'm still not sure what I'll find up there—at this hour, probably nothing but more danger.

So I hesitate. Maybe it's the fact that I'm surrounded by the Lithia Theater Company—but I can't stop thinking that rehearsal for
Measure for Measure
is under way at the college, and I should be there. I've been losing everything that is precious to me, and I want to start fighting to get it back. One thing at a time.

And what I hear in my mind right now are Roman's words:
If all else fails, I'll beg. I need the theater more than it needs me.

~

I stand in the back of the theater. On the stage are Virginia, Tyler, Ben, and a few others. By the looks of it, they're rehearsing Act IV. Virginia is holding a playbook, reading my lines, her eyes glued to the page. Though I know she would love to have the part of Isabella, I also know, as Nate must as well, that she's going to struggle to memorize all those lines in just a few days. And someone else will have to memorize her former lines, too, since now the role of Mariana needs to be filled. In a normal theater, understudies are prepared to take over at a moment's notice—but here, in summer school at Lithia College, there are too few drama students for that luxury.

I feel as though I'm returning to the scene of a crime. Nate is seated near the front of the theater, along with two technical assistants. I shouldn't be here. The cast must hate me, as Nate clearly does.

I'm following along with the scene, mouthing the words as Virginia reads them. Then, as she extends her arms wide, her script goes flying, and she stops midsentence. As she rushes to pick up the script, I suddenly find myself speaking the rest of the stanza:

Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason
For inequality; but let your reason serve
To make the truth appear where it seems hid,
And hide the false seems true.

Everyone freezes as I approach the stage, speaking the lines, becoming Isabella once again.

When the stanza is complete, I'm standing just below the lip of the stage, and the theater is silent. Judging by the open mouths of the actors and the wide eyes of Nate, I've made quite an entrance.

“I'm sorry for the interruption,” I say. “And I apologize for my lack of commitment over the past week. This role is a privilege, not a gift, and I know I lost that privilege. But before you dismiss me, just hear me out. Please. I
know you have rules. But, as this play tea
ches us, sometimes exceptions can be made
to rules.”

By some miracle, they're still lis
tening to me, so I continue. “I would not have failed you if it hadn't been an extreme situation.” As I explain my circumstances, I see them all watching but can't tell what they're thinking.

I take a deep breath. “I should have called Nate. I should have let you all know what was happening. But I was ashamed. I wasn't thinking about anyone but myself. I understand if none of you ever want to see me again—and if that's the case, I will walk out of here right now. But if you give me a second chance, I promise you I will never miss another rehearsal. I will never complain. I will never miss a single line
—
no matter what is happening in my life outside this theater.”

Nate looks around at the cast. The other actors are gathered around onstage, staring down at me.

“You've got some nerve, barging in like this,” Nate says.

“Isabella would have done the exact same thing,” I say.

Nate smiles slightly, or maybe it's more of a grimace. “I suppose she would have. But this isn't just about Isabella. It's about you. Are you saying that now that your problems are over, you are ready to grace us with your presence?”

“My problems are far from over,” I tell him. “I'm saying that I never should have neglected this role in the first place. That I never should have made anyone else suffer for something that is my own fault.”

Nate fixes his eyes on me for what feels like five minutes. “The decision is not mine alone,” he says finally. “You are responsible not only to me but to every actor in this room. If—and only if—the troupe wants to give you a second chance, I will allow it. Let's take a vote. Who's in favor of giving Kat another chance?”

I watch as Lucy and Tyler and Maddie and Ben raise their hands. A few others are hesitant, but after a few moments, they raise their hands, too. Soon, all hands are in the air but Virginia's; she is looking down on me with the darkest of glares. I can't blame her, but I had to do this. I had to fight for my role. Winning this back makes me feel as if I have a chance at winning back my land, too.

It also gives me hope that if I can be forgiven for this, maybe I can be forgiven for the other things I've done.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Nate says to me.

I leap up the stairs onto the stage and wait for my next cue.

T
he next morning, I'm back on the Lost Mine Trail.

If the ghost is not Stacey, it can only be one other person. And I have to find out the truth.

It has been a brutal run. It's not even ten o'clock, and the temperature is already nearing the triple digits. The air is so dry I feel my skin tingle, as if every bit of moisture is being sucked out of my body. Not surprisingly, the trail is free of people on this blistering day. Wiser people are staying indoors, avoiding all forms of exertion. But not me.

I've told myself that this is my last chance to save the land. I don't know why I've gotten it into my head that the ghosts are trying to tell me something, but it's all I have at this point, and that makes it easy to believe. This is their land, after all; they spend far more time here than the living.

If I don't have any luck today, I know that I'll have to give up and move on. I've got rehearsal tonight, and, despite Professor Lindquist not letting me make up my exam, I'm committed to catching up on my studies. It's not about grades in the end; it's about learning. And one thing I have learned is that some battles can be won, and some must be accepted as lost.

As I go deeper into the trail, under the cover of trees, the cooler air I'm hoping for does not materialize. Even here in the shade, everything is hot.

I have a water bottle with me, but it's already empty. So I walk a bit. I'm almost at the fallen tree, the only place I know where I might find the ghost runner.

Yet when I go around the bend, expecting to see the tree trunk, it's gone. I look around, thinking I'm in the wrong spot—but no, I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Only there is nothing here.

Stranger still, there is no sign of a fallen tree at all. Even if Doug had gotten his crew out here to remove the tree, there's no indentation in the trail, no tree branches off to the side, no sawdust as evidence that the tree had been chopped into pieces and carted away. It's as if no tree has ever fallen here.

Could I have dreamt it all?

Standing here, soaked with sweat and blinking as it stings my eyes, I gaze around the forest until I find the area where I last saw her.

“Hello!” I call, and I wait for several minutes, hearing only a bird chirping in the distance. I wipe my burning eyes with my shirt, and when I can see clearly again, I am looking right at her. The ghost runner, standing in the woods just beyond the trail, is staring back at me.

I take a step off the trail, hesitantly at first; then I take another. The ghost turns and heads straight into the heart of the forest. I feel my heart leap, and before I can think, my legs propel me after her, over the sticks and dried brush, around trees and over stumps. I refuse to let her escape me this time. But I'm having trouble keeping up; she's nothing but a wisp of white disappearing among strands of trees.

I speed up, eyes down now to watch where I'm going. I don't look up again until I see water straight ahead, and I nearly run right into it. It's a swimming hole. Not much larger than a baseball diamond and tightly surrounded by trees. I turn around and look for the ghost, but I don't see her.

I turn back to the water. I reach down to splash water on my face, expecting it to be warmed by the heat of the air, but the water is icy cold.

Now I know I'm right about the ghost. This pond. This place—where my mother brought me when I was a child. The pond—spring fed, deep, the water bubbling up from far below, clean and freezing to the touch—it's the same place I took that deep dive, the day I scared my mom by being underwater for so long.

But where's the waterfall? I look around until I notice that the waterfall, which had loomed so high and large when I was a child, is only a small rock outcropping and, given the drought, is now bone dry.

I see no signs of camping or any other human activity, and I wonder if this remains a secret place to this day. My mom used to say it was her hidden watering hole. She said nobody knew about it but us. And my father has apparently forgotten all about it.

I look to my right and see the ghost. I tense my body, ready to chase her again, but this time she isn't running. She's approaching.

I watch her come forward, and there is something so familiar in her movements, in the gentle motion of her hips, her gracefulness, and as she nears I can see more detail in her foggy appearance. Long hair, now flowing over her shoulders, the sharp features of a face staring back into mine. And when she gets close enough for me to see her eyes, I know for certain: I am looking at my mother.

“Mom? Is that you?”

She nods.

I approach her, closer and closer until I can reach out to embrace her—and even though I'm wrapping my arms around nothing but cool air, I can feel the memories rush through me … the day she walked me to school when I was scared to go alone … the way she'd touch my forehead when I had a fever … the long hikes we took in the woods together … the sight of her leaving the house in her jogging clothes, heading off into the forest as she did the last day of her life.

“I miss you,” I whisper.

“I miss you, too, Katherine.”

Her words are light and airy, almost as if they're in my own head, and maybe they are. Either way, I don't care. For the first time in years, I'm hearing her voice—a voice, filled with energy and love, that has been missing from my life for too long.

“I lost our land,” I say. “I don't know how to get it back.”

“I know,” she says. “That's why I'm here. That's why you're here.”

“I don't understand.”

“The land will protect itself,” she says. “And you will help.”

“How?”

“I brought you here for a reason. You have been chosen.”

“Chosen? For what? Why?”

I see her ghostly lips curve into a smile. “Don't you remember when I took you up here?”

“Yes, Mom, of course. Those were the happiest days of my life.”

“Why were you so happy? Was it just because of me? Or something else?”

“I—I don't know,” I say.

“When you figure that out, you'll know. You'll know everything.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will, darling. You'll figure it out.”

“I love you, Mom,” I say. “I'm so sorry Alex took you away from me.”

“It was my time, sweetheart,” she says. “It happened for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. This was my destiny. And now I'm here to help you achieve yours.”

“It's not fair. I want you back.”

“I know. But you need to let me go. It's time for you to move on, to look forward. There are larger challenges ahead. You must be strong.”

“Don't leave now, Mom.”

“I'll be around. I'll always be watching.”

And, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she's gone.

“Mom!”

I call her over and over, to no avail. Having a few more precious moments with her was so sweet that I feel more empty, more lonely, than ever before.

I take a deep breath, trying to recover, and look down at the pond, wondering why my mom led me here. What could an old swimming hole have to do with getting the Horton property back?

And then it hits me.

Why were you so happy?
my mother had asked. The rock I found that day—the rock I thought was gold; I'd been overjoyed, and so disappointed when I'd lost it.

Could it be that my rock had been real gold? That there's more down there in the depths of this pool?

I gaze into the water, but even the daylight isn't strong enough to illuminate all the way to the bottom. I'll have to go down there myself.

As I peer into the pool, I realize that it's so dark I'll need a flashlight, and I don't have time to go get one and still make it to rehearsal in time. And nothing can keep me away from another rehearsal—not anymore.

I sit down next to the pool and sigh, feeling defeated. I look at my watch, wondering if there's a tiny chance I might be able to race to town and back, when I realize I already have what I need—my watch. It has a powerful little light, not as strong as a flashlight, but it'll have to do. I smile at the thought of my dad's gift helping me undo the damage he has done.

I take off my shoes and dip my toes into the water. The freezing temperature is a relief from the dry, hot air, though I know diving in will give me a jolt. I take a deep breath and go for it.

My body heaves with shock as I enter the water. I tell myself to relax, that the cold never bothered me as a child, that I will be fine. And within a few seconds my body forgets about the cold, my entire being now focused only on going deeper into the darkness. I keep my right wrist out in front, holding the waterproof watch out like a headlight, my other hand paddling, my legs beating hard. As the daylight fades behind me, my little watch's light seems to get stronger, not strong enough to illuminate anything more than a few feet away, but it's better than nothing. What I'm looking for here is something that reflects light—all I need to see is glitter in the darkness.

I know that there will be no true bottom to this pond, just the ever-narrowing passageways of a river cut through rock. I remember that the passageway bends; I remember that there were ledges near where I'd found the gold. I try to move quickly, despite the fact that my lungs are already feeling ready to burst.

I see a ledge ahead, and I scan the rocks for slivers of gold, anything that catches the light. But nothing jumps out at me. Nothing. My breath is almost gone, and I return to the surface for air.

I gasp as I reach the surface, treading water, wondering what to do next. All around me are trees towering above, and I feel as if I'm being watched again, that my heavy breathing surely can be heard for hundreds of yards. But I can't leave now, not yet.

I ready myself for another dive, pushing out the air, sucking it in again, stretching my lungs to their fullest. I take a final breath and head back down. This time, I point my watch at the edges of the pond, on the rocky outcroppings, hoping for something to catch the light, a vein of gold if I'm lucky. And then I see something I don't expect, a large opening in the rocks, like a cave entrance, with wooden pylons on both sides. Clearly this was made at some point by humans.

But before I can inspect it, I'll need more air. Back to the surface I go. Once above water, I realize that it's actually fortunate for me right now that there's been a drought. Normally the water would be a foot or two higher, judging by the waterline. As I inhale and exhale, preparing for another dive, I'm grateful for any advantage I can get. I dive again.

I shine my watch on the rocky wall as I descend toward the cave. The entrance is large enough to swim into, but the darkness is hardly welcoming. My beam of light fades into black. I know I must venture inside, and I try to fight back the fear of getting stuck, unable to find my way out.

I swim into the entrance with one arm stretched in front of me. Even though I have the watch pointing straight ahead, I still want to avoid hitting any rocks or sharp pieces of wood.

I'm about ten feet into the tunnel, which seems to go on forever. I'm running out of breath. I'm about to turn around when the light changes, and I shine the light up toward whatever it is. As I extend my arm up, I feel it leave the water—it's an air pocket of some sort. I follow with my head.

Air!

I am in a large cavern, its ceiling several feet above my head. The air is stale and musty, but I don't care; it's breathable. I take deep breaths and then begin to shine my light along the walls.

It looks as if the walls are lined with rows of sparkling yellow lights.

Gold.

Everywhere, chunks of gold glitter off the dank walls of the cave. Some are tiny, the size of dimes, others are larger, the size of dinner plates. Some spots are shiny, as if they'd just been polished, and others are dull.

I've discovered the Lost Mine.

I hear my mother's voice again.
You have been chosen
.

This must be what she meant—that I was chosen to discover this place. Because I think I've just figured out how to get my land back.