The Ghost Runner (17 page)

A
fter I emerge from the cave, I run back to town and go straight to the Lithia Springs Hotel. I burst into the fancy lobby—thanks to the heat, my clothes are dry, but by
now
I'm drenched with sweat—and I try to ignore the suspicious look of the concierge as he calls up to Roman's room. I pace back and forth across the Persian carpet, and then the concierge tells me that there's no answer.

So I wait in a corner of the lobby for a little while, sitting near the window, where I can watch people inside and also out on the sidewalk, doubling my chances of seeing Roman. But all I see are irritated glances in my direction by hotel staff, clearly put off by my sitting in their lobby in my sweaty state.

Finally I have to leave—before rehearsal, I need to study both my lines for the play
and
material for Lindquist's class. I'm not going to risk anything else going wrong at school. Seeing my mother, having that moment with her, has made me aware of just how fortunate I am. I have the feeling she is still around, that she'll be watching over me during my next exam, that she'll be in the theater on the opening night of the play. I won't be alone—and I want to make her proud.

As for the gold, it's been up there forever. It can wait one more day. At least, I hope it can. I hope it's not already too late to save the land.

~

It's our last night of regular rehearsals—tomorrow is the dress rehearsal, and then it'll be opening night. For the first time since we began, Nate hasn't interrupted to correct an actor's line, to comment about tone or emphasis. Not once has he told someone to take a different position or to use a different gesture. He's just been sitting in his seat watching, as if he's no longer a director but an audience member.

And when we finish, all he says is, “I believe you're ready. Now get out of here and get some rest.”

I believe you're ready
. I wish I could be so sure. I do look forward to rehearsing in full costume, performing as if the audience is out there. That will be a true test—we won't be allowed to pause, start over, or ask for help. Everything will be in real time, with no breaks excerpt for intermission.

I think I'm ready.

But after everyone else leaves, I linger in the theater. I climb back up to the stage. The last few scenes have been giving me trouble; I've transposed my lines a couple of times, my tongue tripping over words like
fedary
and
vastidity
.

At first I feel self-conscious, speaking aloud up here all by myself, but soon I find it comforting to be alone in an empty theater, hearing my words echo back to me. In just a couple more nights, the theater will be full, and there will be no echo.

I take my time, repeating the lines more slowly than I have in rehearsal, and it helps—once I slow down, I no longer stumble. I go over the same scenes until I do them right three times in a row.

Suddenly, I hear clapping from the far reaches of the theater, somewhere in the dark, below the balcony. I squint and see an outline of a man. It hadn't occurred to me that it might not be a good idea to stay behind this late, and I brace myself to run, noting which side door is closest to me if I need it.

Then the man enters the light, and I relax.

Roman.

“Brava!” he calls.

I bow for him as he stands below me.

“You're standing in the pit,” I say. “It suits you.”

“Very funny, Isabella.”

“How did you get in here?” I ask, then say, “Never mind. I can guess. But I'm glad you're here. I need your help.”

“I know. I got your many messages at the hotel.”

“Where have you been?”

“I've been at rehearsals of my own,” he says.

“You got your job back!”

“I did.”

“Congratulations, Roman. I'm so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Katherine. Now, what sort of help do you need?”

I sit down on the edge of the stage, so our faces are close together. “You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you.”

“Of course I won't.”

“I mean it.”

“I promise,” he says, “and my promise means all. What is it?”

“You were a gold miner once, weren't you?”

He looks startled, and I can tell his mind is turning in circles.

“Why do you ask such a thing?”

“Just answer my question.”

“Yes,” he says. “I worked in the mines. A very long time ago. How did you come to know this?”

“There's an old photo in the antique shop. Of miners standing outside a tavern. One of them looks like you. Of course, you haven't aged a day in the past hundred years, so I put two and two together.”

Roman nods. “Yes. That was me.”

“You got caught in that earthquake?”

He nods again. “I was working in one of the shafts when the ground began to shake. I was buried in there, along with about twenty others.”

“How did you—survive?”

“Because I did something then that I regret even today.”

“What?”

He shifts away from me, and I climb down from the stage and put my hand on his shoulder, to turn him around.

“What happened, Roman?”

“Victor happened.”

“I don't understand.”

“Victor owned the mine. How do you think he got that house on the hill?”

“I thought he was a rich European.”

“He came here, like so many others, for the gold. And it was the gold that built that house, that financed his travels.”

“So you two didn't meet in Europe, like he said?”

“No. Victor says many things, and he tells many lies. When you've lived as long as he has, you forget your own stories. You learn to reinvent yourself. We do not age, you know. And so we must continuously move on.”

“What happened in the mine?”

“I was human then, just like you. Just a kid. And when the mine caved in, I thought I was going to die. I thought we all were. Our lanterns had been extinguished, and we were crawling over rocks and bodies, trying to find a way out. I lost track of the time—underground, you can't tell night from day—but what I did know was that we didn't have much of a chance. We stuck together in the dark, but when I could hear the men beginning to pray, to say their last rites, I knew I had to make another run for it. So I crawled off alone. I got lost. It was fitting. I was prepared to die and to die alone, as I deserved.”

Roman pauses, and I run my hand along his arm, encouraging him. “Then I saw a light,” he continues. “I thought I was dead then, that I was seeing the light of heaven. Only I wasn't dead. The light was a lantern, and Victor was holding that lantern.”

“So Victor saved you.”

“Not exactly.”

Roman's expression tells me everything.

“Because he was a vampire already,” I say.

“Yes. And he made me an offer in that mine shaft. He told me he would rescue me, give me eternal life. And I would probably have agreed to anything. I asked about the others. Would he save the others? Yes, he said. He would save them all. When I came to, I was above ground in a tent, and I was so weak I couldn't lift my head. Victor told me I'd been down there for three days when he found me. Then he said something else, in Latin, something I did not understand. And I saw the fangs.”

I want to pull Roman into my arms, to share the pain he's feeling as he relives the experience, the moment that changed his existence forever. His eyes are glowing red with anger, and I decide to let him finish.

“That was the first of Victor's many lies,” he says. “He didn't save the others. I was the only survivor, and, in truth, I died as well that day.”

“I'm so sorry, Roman.”

He looks at me tenderly, almost with a sense of relief in his face. “I've never told anyone this before,” he says. “It's been too difficult to admit that I played the leading role in my own fate.”

“We all make mistakes,” I say.

“Not like this,” he says. “Please, Katherine. Promise you will not share this with anyone else.”

“My promise means all,” I say, and I see a hint of a smile on his lips.

“So, Katherine, what is the meaning of all this mine talk?”

Now I no longer want to ask him what I'd planned to—I'd had no idea I would be asking him to return to the site of his worst moments. “Oh, nothing,” I say.

“It is not nothing,” he says. “I can tell.”

“Okay.” I take a breath and look him in the eye. “Do you think you could find your way back into the mine?”

He looks a little taken aback, but not traumatized, by what I've asked. “No, I couldn't,” Roman says. “The earthquake buried it. No one knows where it is. If they did, they'd have gone back in for the gold.”

“What if I told you that I found an entrance?”

“To the Lost Mine?” He looks surprised. “Where?”

“If I tell you, will you go? Will you do something for me?”

“I'll do anything for you.”

“It's dangerous.”

He shakes his head. “Though the memory haunts me, that mine does not scare me. Not anymore. There is nothing that could happen there that is worse than what already has.”

I tell Roman all about the pond, about the gold. I do my best to describe how to get there, even though I probably couldn't find it again if I tried. But he nods, as if he knows where I'm talking about.

“I will look for it,” he says. “And I should probably remind you that this is Victor's gold.”

“It's my only chance,” I say. “My only chance to buy back the land.”

“I understand,” he says. “After what Victor has taken from so many others, I don't mind taking a little something from him. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.”

I wrap my arms around Roman, and we lock our bodies together. I've never truly forgotten what it feels like to be in Roman's arms, and being here again makes me want to stay forever. “Thank you,” I whisper. “This means everything to me.”

“And you, Katherine, mean everything to me.”

T
he dressing rooms are located deep below the stage, down a long flight of stairs. When I head down there, I feel as if I'm descending into a cave—there are no windows, only a handful of posters for past productions covering the concrete walls.

There are two large dressing rooms, one for guys and one for girls, and one main room with a large mirror, where we all sit to have our makeup applied. I'm wearing a sweater over my costume and watching as Franklin, the costume and makeup manager, covers my face with a thick foundation.

“Don't you think that's a bit much?” I ask.

“Hardly,” says Franklin. “It always looks awful down here. But up there, under those lights, if you didn't have all this, your face would wash out like the bright side of the moon.”

“I guess that's why they keep the theater at freezing temperatures,” I say, “so all this goo doesn't melt away.”

“That's right. And don't worry, you'll be plenty warm under those spots.”

When he's finished, I pull off the sweater and stand in front of the mirror to get a full view of myself in my nun's habit.

“You look hot,” Tyler comments.

I roll my eyes. “Please. I'm a nun.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “The allure of the forbidden.”

I wave him away and check my makeup once more. Being in full costume makes my character feel so much more real. Until tonight, I'd thought costumes were for the benefit of the audience, but now I see that they're for the actors as well, so that we believe our roles are genuine.

Tonight, I
am
Isabella.

I turn away from the mirror and look around at the various cast members wandering about, adjusting their costumes and makeup.

I see Lucy and wave her over. She sways toward me. As Mistress Overdone, she is decked out in a garish outfit suitable for a lady of the night.

“Have you seen Virginia?” I ask.

“No,” Lucy says, as she checks her own makeup—just as thick as mine but much bolder, with thick false eyelashes and bright red lipstick. “Not that she talks to me anyway. Why?”

“Nate was asking about her a few minutes ago. She's not here yet, and nobody has heard from her.”

Lucy's eyes widen. “I'll ask around.”

She begins to walk around the room, approaching the others, her high heels clicking on the concrete floor. I still feel bad that, only a few days ago, Virginia had finally gotten the role of Isabella, only for me to snatch it back from her. But I don't think she'd go so far as to boycott the dress rehearsal over it. She may despise me, but she's always been professional about her role.

As they say, the show must go on, and we eventually have to begin the dress rehearsal without her. A stagehand, Nicole, reads Virginia's lines, script in hand. The chaos level is high, and I wonder how in the world everything will come together by tomorrow night. Some of the costumes aren't quite ready, the set is missing a wall and a door, and the lighting is still off: In one key scene, when I stand where I'm supposed to stand, the spotlight hits the wall instead of me.

After the rehearsal is over, we change out of our costumes and meet on the edge of the stage, just as we did during our very first meeting.

Nate reads from a clipboard, noting adjustments that need to be made, act by act. The Duke is not loud enough in Act I, Claudio's entrance in Act III is too slow, the lighting in Act V is too dark. And so on. By the time he reaches the end of his notes, I think we're all wishing we had another few weeks to practice.

As if sensing this, Nate says, “We're almost there, people. We're ready.”

“What about Virginia?” asks Lucy.

Nate looks at his clipboard, as if the answer might be in his notes. Nicole did fine considering she had no preparation, but if Virginia doesn't show up tomorrow night, we can't have Nicole standing onstage holding a script.

“Nicole, you think you can memorize those lines by tomorrow night?”

“I'll try,” she says. I can tell she's nervous but also excited at the opportunity to be onstage.

“Good. Hopefully our Mariana will turn up. But if not, Nicole will be ready. Now go get some sleep, everyone.”

“Except Nicole,” Tyler says, with that grin of his.

“Shut up, jerk,” says Nicole.

~

It's late, and I'm exhausted, yet I can't stop thinking about Roman. He was planning to go look for the mine this evening, and I want to know what he found, if anything. So I stop by the hotel on my way home. Even though he has his job back, he's decided to stay there, renting his room by the week. I suppose after having a cook and maid at Victor's mansion, it's hard to transition to a plain old apartment without laundry and room service.

This time, I skip the concierge desk and take the stairs up to his room and knock on the door. I wait, then knock again, but it's clear he's not back yet. I check my cell phone, but there are no messages, not that Roman would leave one. He hardly ever uses even a regular phone.

I stop by the front desk and ask if anyone left a message for me, by any chance. Nothing.

I shouldn't worry—of everyone I know, Roman can take care of himself—but still, I can't help it. I think of him up there with the undead miners, all those ghosts that were once so alive and real to him. Some of those miners are likely old friends of his, and I wonder if this endeavor could be even more dangerous than I'd imagined. What if they're angry about what happened? What if they blame Roman for being saved while the rest of them perished? I remember that Alex said vampires try to stay clear of ghosts.

What, exactly, have I asked Roman to do?

I have to get up there.

I hurry back to my cottage, get dressed for running, and grab my flashlight. Even though it's dark, the night air is still hot and dry. I don't have to worry about layering tonight.

I start up the hill, feeling a dull ache in my legs as I ascend. The last time I was up here I pushed myself too hard, and now I'm paying the price. I have to stop near the Highland Hills development to walk.

Then I hear a noise in the dark. I point my flashlight toward the sound.

I see a lumbering form, hear a guttural noise.

Even in the dark, I can't believe my eyes. “
Dad?
Is that you?”

He stumbles forward.

“Hey, Scooter!”

I can tell right away that he is drunk—that he is more than drunk, holding a half-empty bottle and weaving from side to side as he gets closer.

“Dad, what on earth are you doing out here?”

“Just out for a little stroll. Stretching the ol' legs.”

“You're drinking,” I say. “Why? What happened?”

“Why?” He lets out a gravelly laugh. “
Why not
is the question, Scooter. I've got time, plenty of time. All the time in the world.”

“What are you talking about?” I grab him by the shoulders to get his attention. “What is going on with you?”

“He fired me.”

“Who?”

“Ed Jacobs, that's who. He fired me, the bastard. Said my
position
had been eliminated. Not me, the position. Damn coward.”

I feel panic rising within me. “What about the land, Dad?”

“The land? What's it matter anymore?”

“It matters to
me
. Tell me. What does this mean for the land?”

He looks at me, and I can see the life drain from his face. The arrogance I last witnessed, when he thought he was on the verge of great wealth, has disappeared, and it's been replaced by a hollowed-out face, slumped shoulders, and eyes that can barely meet mine.

“It's his now.”

“What do you mean, his? How much is his?”

“All of it. He made all these promises, showed me all these fancy contracts and spreadsheets with lots of zeros on them. He took me to his ranch, showed me his antique car collection, his horses. Said I'd be living this way soon. The lawyers said it was too good to pass up. Just sign the papers.”

My father leans his head back and drains what's left in the liquor bottle, then tosses it over the chain-link fence. I hear it shatter on the concrete foundation of a home. It is an eerie sound, echoing into the night.

Dad is staring through the fence, as though he wants the bottle back. “It's all over,” he says. “Everything's gone.”

I don't know what to say. I know what I
want
to say—that he was used by Ed Jacobs in the same way he used me, that he now knows the meaning of the word
karma
. That this is nothing less than what he deserved, after all that he's done.

But I can't say any of that. Because I know what it's like to be where he is right now. I know that awful, sinking feeling of having trusted someone you shouldn't have. Of wishing you could start over and knowing you can't.

So I say instead, “Dad, you need to go home and get some rest.”

“What for?” He sounds hopeless.

“Because tomorrow you'll have to get up and start over. You'll get back on your feet, like you always do.”

He looks at me. “I'm sorry, Katie. I screwed up.”

“I know. It's okay.” I realize, for the first time, that I'm not angry anymore. I'm not quite sure why that is, but it's a good feeling, all that tension having melted away into sympathy and even a bit of understanding.

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“Sure, Dad. Now, come on, you have to get home.”

He is still weaving on his feet. “What about you?”

“I—” I struggle to find something to tell him. “I lost my keys on the trail earlier. I know exactly where they are. I'm just going to grab them and go right home myself.”

“It's late. You can stay at my place. Get the keys tomorrow.”

I shake my head. “It's okay. I won't be long.”

“I'll go with you.” He tries to take a few steps toward me but slips and falls onto the dirt. “Okay, maybe not. But I'm not leaving you up here, Katie. I'll wait for you right here.”

I start to argue, but I realize he's probably in more danger heading back to town alone than he would be with me and my flashlight. “Okay, fine. I'll be right back.”

“If you have any trouble up there, just holler. I'll come running, okay?”

“Okay.”

There is something so sad about him now, and it actually tugs at me and makes me reluctant to turn away. It's almost as if a part of him has died—the bad part—and the part left over is a part I've never seen.

“I won't be long,” I tell him.

“I'll be here,” he says, his voice a little stronger. “From now on, I'll be here for you, Katie. I promise.”

And for once, I almost believe him.

But this is no time for family reunions—I have to find Roman and then get Dad home. So I turn and head up the trail.

The wind has picked up, a dry, warm wind. I look up to see the shadows of clouds overhead, making the path ahead even darker. Fortunately, I've been up this trail enough times to know almost every rut and curve by heart.

I reach the point in the trail where my mom led me to the swimming hole, and I leave the trail and begin tiptoeing over the brush and dead branches. Minutes pass, until I'm no longer sure where I am. I shine my flashlight all around, but nothing is recognizable, let alone familiar. I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever find the pool again.

“Roman!” I can picture him now, deep in the mine, chipping away at those walls, risking everything for me. And I'm worried; I'm no longer sure whether even Roman can be safe here anymore.

Suddenly, the earth begins to shake under my feet, so violently that I fall to the ground.

An earthquake.

I've never been in an earthquake before and don't know what to do. I stay on the ground and cover my head, expecting trees to begin toppling onto me any moment. Again I picture Roman down inside the mine, and I wonder what is happening down there as the earth continues its rumbling.

There's another strong jolt, and it feels as if the land itself is angry, shaking us. I hear Professor Lindquist's voice in my head:
The land will protect itself
.

I wait for what feels like forever but is probably only about five minutes. When the earth stops trembling, I stand and look around in the darkness. The forest looks completely undisturbed, as if nothing has happened. I begin to walk again, but I've gotten turned around and have no idea in what direction I am headed.

Nervous, I pick up my pace until I'm jogging. I don't care if I'm headed in the wrong direction; I just need to move quickly. I feel the urgency of time, every second weighing on me. Roman's life in the balance. This land in the balance.

The next thing I know, I'm back on the trail. I've gone in a complete circle without getting any closer to the swimming hole. Again I shout out Roman's name over the wind, but I get no response.

And then, when I look into the woods, I see them.

The miners.

I brace myself for another falling tree; I brace myself to run. Then one of the miners steps forward, and in that moment I draw on the strength that my mother's ghost has given me. And instead of fleeing, I call to him.

“Are you going to try to hit me with a tree again?”

He does not respond.

“Where's Roman?” I ask.

The others are gathered behind this one miner, and they are all silent.

“You almost killed me,” I remind them. “Was that because of the Horton land? Is that what you're protecting?”

Still, they say nothing.

“I'm going to get it back,” I say. “The land. I promise you.”

But they only stare back at me, and I feel my inner strength begin to weaken.

Then the entire forest seems to vibrate, and winds are screaming through the trees so wildly that I think every tree will come crashing down, all at once.