Authors: Jeyn Roberts
I look at the dark row of houses. Only a few still have lights on, and most of them seem to be coming from upstairs bedrooms. “She must live here somewhere. I wonder what time it is.”
“I don't know,” Parker says. “Late, but not too late. Too many lights still on.”
“Does this normally happen?” I ask. “When you write something on the wall, does it not always send you to the right place? Where did you go, anyway?”
“Now isn't the time to be asking,” Parker says as he scans the block again. “Question me later. Right now, we have to find your girl. If the cave sent you here, she's here.” He pauses, listening to the night. “There. An automobile. Hear it?”
I stop to listen. Sure enough, the roar of an engine grows louder. A car turns the corner a bit too fast. As it moves along the block, I recognize it as being Tatum's. I step back toward Parker, wondering again if I'm doing the right thing. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with the desire to jump in the bushes and hide like a pitiful puppy.
I don't.
I can see Tatum through the windshield. She doesn't see me at first. She seems to be distracted, barely even looking at the road. When she pulls over to park, her tire hits the curb. A pounding bass sound vibrates from the loud music inside. It's only after she turns off the car and climbs out that she notices Parker and me standing in front of her.
“Oh my God.”
“Hi,” I say. For the first time in all my Fades and haunting years, I'm at a complete loss for words.
“What are you doing here?” Tatum says.
“I came looking for you.”
“How is that possible? Can ghosts travel? I thought you were spiritually bound to Frog Road.” She reaches out and gently touches my arm. Her fingers are warm from being in the car. She withdraws her hand, looking somewhat surprised, as if she thought she might reach right through my being.
“Normally I'm stuck as a hitchhiker,” I say. “But I found a loophole. A way to help you.”
“Help! Yes! I have to show you this.” Tatum holds up a large photo album. Her eyes sparkle with excitement. She's already over her surprise at seeing me. She barely even gives Parker a second glance. “I found a whole bunch of information about you. Tons of great stuff. My friend Scott's grandmother collected it. You helped her once. She was the lady who found the bank key behind the bed. Do you remember?”
“I'm not sure,” I say. “I don't always remember people when I Fade.”
“Fade?”
“It's what we call it when we come here.” I look at the album Tatum is waving around, and a sense of dread comes over me. Have all the people I've helped ended up with some weird determination to find information on me? How could they be successful? I try to remember the woman Tatum speaks of. If she is older, she might remember my death. Maybe she was young at the time of my murder and the news left an impression on her. Or she got lucky. Just like Tatum.
My death is not worth remembering. I should be long forgotten, not some mystery for a teenage girl to try and solve. But Tatum's got her mission. What I need to do is give her the answers she needs so we can move on and worry about her. Thanks to Parker, I'm going to get this extra time to spend with her.
“Cool,” she says now.
“I can't believe you've gone to all this trouble,” I say. Which makes me think this girl doesn't have a lot of friends to keep her occupied.
“Hopefully it'll give me the answers to help you.”
Why can't she just let this go?
“You can't help me,” I say, but I know my concerns are falling on deaf ears.
“Newspaper articles,” Tatum says. “Pictures. And now I have names. Your last name: Bellamy. There's got to be other stuff on the Internet, too. I can help. I know I can. You know, help get you where you need to go. The bright light. All that stuff.”
She's so excited. I wish I could share in her enthusiasm, even though I know it's misguided. I can see Parker behind her, amused and trying not to grin.
Most of us on the beach have experienced someone trying to save our souls at least once or twice. The Canadian girl is a great example. Several times she's appeared in the music studio to see a group of people trying to summon her away. They've burned sage in overwhelming amounts. She's had holy water thrown at her. The crazy dog lady says that the new tenant once tried to suck her up with a vacuum cleaner. None of these things have worked. No séances, exorcisms, or even plain old-fashioned begging. No over-the-top paranormal ghost shows with their psychic readers and scientific sound devices. No matter how many real-world humans try to remove us, we keep coming.
So although I know Tatum's heart is in the right place, I also know that I'm not leaving the lake until whoever put me there decides it's time. We've got people who have been there for hundreds of years. We all remember each other arriving, but no one remembers anyone leaving. Except for Roani, the mysterious disappearing person Parker just mentioned tonight.
Tatum's excitement about discovering my past isn't going to change that.
“Tatum, it's not⦔ I pause when I see her stiffen. She's not looking at me. I hear the footsteps from behind. Several pairs.
“Look who's out on a school night,” a voice says.
I turn. Two boys around Tatum's age are walking toward us. Neither of them appears very friendly, even though they're smiling. There's something aggressive in the way they walk, like they think they have a right to whatever is about to happen next. I remember guys like this. The type who thought buying a girl a drink meant they owned her for the night.
As they walk beneath the streetlight, I recognize them.
The vision I had of Tatum being attacked. They are both in it.
“Go away, Graham.” Tatum's voice is cautious. Exhausted. Like she's had to deal with this guy more times than she cares to remember.
Graham.
He's going to hold Tatum down. Press against her body, forcing the air out of her lungs. His breath will smell like spearmint. No matter how much Tatum struggles against him, she won't be strong enough to fight back.
Right now she doesn't seem scared of him at all. That's going to change if I don't make her listen.
“Where were you tonight? Sitting outside Mr. P.'s house? Peeking through the window? Writing love letters?” He reaches out to grab the album from Tatum's hands, but she's too quick. His fingers only touch air.
“Where were
you
tonight?” Tatum snaps back. “Waiting outside my house for me to come home? Just you and Levi hanging out? Stalk much?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Wow, witty,” Tatum says. She looks straight at me and tosses her head slightly to the side, indicating I should follow. “I've got better things to do with my time. Go tip some cows.”
Graham grabs her arm as she tries to leave.
“Hey!” I shout, and Parker steps between all of us, grabs Graham's arm, and shoves him backward. The boy stumbles over his own feet, but only for a second. Regaining his balance, he gets right in Parker's face. Presses his chest against Parker's and bares his teeth. The other boy, Levi, reaches out and pulls his friend back. The silence grows heavy as the boys all face off against each other.
“Who the hell are you?” Graham asks.
He can
see
us? I open my mouth in surprise. I've spent too much time on the highway, only appearing to one person at a time. I honestly didn't think that anyone other than Tatum could see me. Until this moment, I wasn't even sure she could see Parker.
“I'm not your concern,” Parker finally says.
“You are if I make you my problem,” Graham says. From behind him, Levi snickers and sticks his tongue out in a lewd motion toward me. My eyes narrow, and I ignore the itch in my hand, the desire to punch away that smug look on Levi's face.
“I said get lost,” Tatum says.
“What's with the costumes?” Levi says. “It's not even close to Halloween, hippie chick. The sixties sucked.”
“And get a load of pretty boy here,” Graham says. His voice goes high and stupid as he tries to mimic Parker's British accent. “Oh, golly gee, guv'nor. I like wearing prissy outfits. Got a fag for me, luv?”
“Really?” I say. “You're trying to give us fashion advice? I can see your underwear. And what's with the jeans? Can't you afford a pair that fits?”
“I think that's what passes for fashion these days,” Parker says with a serious face.
“And they say my generation dressed weird,” I mutter under my breath. I wonder what my dad would think of the kids these days. If he disliked Julian's long hair, he'd despise the way this kid's jeans look like they're constantly hanging at his knees.
“Is this the best you can do, Tate?” Graham asks. He's circling around Parker but keeping his distance. “A Brit queer and a drama-class dropout? Wow, who thought the reject could find kids even more rejectier than her?”
“That's not even a word, idiot,” Tatum says.
“You should stay away from that chick,” Graham says to Parker. He brushes some imaginary dirt off his jacket sleeve. “Don't believe a word that comes out of her mouth. Bitch is crazy.”
“I think it's time for you to leave,” Parker says. He turns around and steps in front of Graham. A threatening move. But neither of the two boys moves.
Graham smirks at Tatum. “Whoever these freaks are, they can't fight your battles forever. Kinda pathetic.”
“Like you fight Claudette's battle?” Tatum asks. “Get out of here, Graham. Sucking up to her isn't going to get you laid.”
Claudette.
When I hear the name, my memory brings up a pretty girl with long curly hair. She's from my vision too. She stands over Tatum, enjoying her pain. Laughing as her foot crunches down on Tatum's fingers.
Graham steps forward, and Parker is there in a flash to meet him. Graham's hands shoot up, and he shoves Parker backward and right into me. Parker stumbles, his foot catching on the cloth of my skirt. I hear fabric tear. I look down, and I can see a rip in the bottom. Parker touches my arm in apology. I get out of their way before round two can begin.
Both boys glare at each other again. Graham finally backs down. I don't blame him. Parker is bigger than him by about twenty pounds. Taller, too. But it's not just that. There's something about Parker's attitude that's a little threatening. Otherworldly. Graham can't quite place it, but he can sense it. He knows better than to try and go after Parker. And I doubt his spineless friend, Levi, would help. He's too busy staying on the sideline.
“You're a mouthy little bitch,” Graham says. “You'd better watch it. Mouthy bitches get shut up real quick.”
Then Graham turns and walks away, Levi trailing behind as if nothing had happened. We watch them fade into the darkness. When they reach the corner, Graham turns and blows a kiss.
“What a jerk,” Tatum says. She's holding her car keys in one hand and the photo album in the other. What's scary is that she doesn't seem to be bothered by the incident in the slightest. She looks annoyed, not worried. “Come on. If we're quiet, we can talk in my bedroom. I think my parents have gone to bed.”
This isn't the first time Graham and his friend have verbally assaulted her. Obviously it's happened enough for her to build up some sort of immunity. But Graham. His eyes said it all. He meant every word that came out of his mouth.
Tatum really is in trouble. And I just met two of the people who are going to kill her.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“It's nothing.”
“It didn't look like nothing.”
“Let it go,” Tatum snaps. “They're just a bunch of jerks who think it's funny to harass me. But they're harmless. They're all talk.”
Tatum begins walking up the sidewalk toward the closest house. Parker reaches out and touches my arm, pressing his shoulder against mine. He's tense. I can feel the muscles in his arm.
“We're safer inside,” he whispers.
Right. Remnants might be out and about. Or maybe he's thinking the boys might come back with more of their friends.
“Come on,” Tatum calls back to us.
Growing up with these people has made Tatum blind. There are none more vulnerable than those who cannot see. If anyone should know that, it's me. Because we can never fully know someone, no matter how much they share. And the worst of mankind often wears the best masks.
I sigh. This is going to be a long night.
She can barely control her excitement as she steps up to the front porch. Molly is
here.
In the proverbial flesh. And Tatum is about to sneak her into her house so they can have a talk. As she pushes against the door, she hesitates, hoping that her texts to Mom were enough to send her parents to bed without worry. She sent one off just after she left the coffee shop.
I'll be right home. Sorry, got really caught up in my homework.
Half an hour. I promise.
Mom replied, telling her she'd better be home as soon as possible or there would be hell to pay. But Tatum knows that once Mom gets an arrival time, she's less likely to worry. She's probably upstairs, tucked in with Dad (who is most definitely snoring), reading a book until she hears the key in the lock. And if Tatum goes straight to her room, there isn't going to be a confrontation.
“Okay,” Tatum whispers. “Follow me. We have to be quiet.”
Molly nods. She steps across the entrance with that guy trailing behind her. Tatum's a bit more worried about him. She can easily explain a girl in her bedroom. All she has to say is that Molly is from school and Tatum is giving her a book for class. But a boy? That's the number one house rule being broken. Let's also not forget that it's after eleven on a school night. Tatum could get grounded until graduation if she gets caught. She thinks about asking Parker to wait outside, but doesn't. He's got a very guarded look on his face. The way he's monitoring Molly's every move suggests he's not going to let her out of his sight.
Thankfully, Tatum's bedroom is on the other side of the house. If they keep their voices down, there's no reason why her mom or dad should hear them. Tatum will turn on some music.
They climb the stairs quietly. When they reach the top, Tatum sees that the light is on beneath her parents' door.
“Tatum?”
She freezes. Points to Molly and Parker.
“Down to the end,” she whispers. “On the left.”
Molly nods and they move along. Once they're out of range, Tatum pushes open her parents' bedroom door. Sure enough, just as she guessed, Mom's got a book in her hands and Dad is snoring away.
“You're late.”
“Sorry,” Tatum says.
“Is everything all right? Nothing happened?”
No, everything is wrong. Don't pretend to care.
“I'm fine.”
“Okay. Have a good sleep.”
Mom places her book on the nightstand and turns out the light. Just like that. Nothing else. She's not even going to scold Tatum for being an hour past curfew. Like everyone else, even Tatum's parents don't care anymore. They'll be relieved when school ends and she leaves town. Their embarrassing daughter. Can't wait to get rid of her.
She's on her own.
Tatum closes the door quietly, ignoring the desire to slam it several times. When she reaches her room, she finds Molly sitting on her mattress while Parker browses the books on her shelf. The bedside reading lamp is turned on, leaving most of the walls covered in dark shadows.
“How much trouble are you going to get into if your parents find out we're here?” Molly asks.
“I won't if they don't come check,” Tatum says. She turns on the clock radio by the bed, and music starts to play at low volume. “And trust me, they won't. They don't care enough.”
“I'm sure that's not true,” Molly says. “All parents care about their children.”
“Not mine,” Tatum says. “Mine think I'm a nasty little liar and a sociopath. They probably lock their door in fear of me killing them in their sleep.” She sighs, knowing she's exaggerating, but the anger is there.
“Why's that?” Molly asks.
“I don't want to talk about it. Just forget I said anything.” Tatum tosses the photo album on the bed. “You want to see the clippings? It's your life story. Well, some of it. It talks about your killer, Walter. And about you. Did you really travel the country with a bunch of people?”
Molly looks down at the album. “My life is an open book, is it? Just a story for everyone to read. What a strange thought. Did they make me out to be some drug-crazed girl who deserved it?”
“No, not at all,” Tatum says, hoping Molly doesn't see the editorial that pretty much blamed her for everything.
“I'm sure they were out there,” Molly says with a sigh. “A girl living with a bunch of nomads? Sometimes people used to yell at me on the street. Once there was a preacher. Told me I was going to hell for holding hands with Julian.”
“I'm sorry,” Tatum says. “I didn't mean to upset you.”
“You're not,” Molly says. “It's not as if my death was like the Manson murders. I wasn't famous or part of some psychotic cult. I just find it surprising that strangers would even care. And for the record, I didn't do drugs. Never was into them.”
Tatum plops down on the bed beside her. “How can you think that? I'll bet tons of people cared. There was a huge trial. I saw the pictures. Lots of people in the courtroom.” Tatum reaches out and touches Molly's arm again. She can't get over how real she feels. If she hadn't already seen Molly disappear twice in front of her, Tatum might start questioning it. But no, Molly is the girl in the pictures. She's even wearing the same ring on her finger. She grabs a few of the loose articles from the album and shakes them for emphasis. “Your life is amazing.”
Molly smiles. “Are you sure it's not the ghost part that makes you say that?”
From beside them, Parker laughs.
“Are you a ghost too?” Tatum finally fully notices Parker. He looks to be a few years older than Molly, but it's hard to tell. The odd clothing he wears makes him look a lot older. An old-fashioned shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A pair of wool trousers. Definitely not the things the local boys wear. He looks like he's fallen straight out of a Jane Austen novel.
“
Ghost
is such an injudicious term,” Parker says, and Tatum can tell he's clearly offended.
“Oh, stop it,” Molly says. “You call yourself a ghost all the time.”
“No, I don't.”
“Yes, you do.” Molly turns to Tatum. “And yes, he is. Parker haunts a hospital in London, England. We share the same afterlife. I guess that's what you'd call it.”
“Wow, England. So you're looking for something too?”
Parker snorts in disgust. “This is useless, Molly. We shouldn't be here. She's too deaf to listen.” He goes over to the window and peeks through the blinds.
“Just a few more minutes,” Molly says. She turns to Tatum. “Parker's right. We don't have much time. What we did to get here, apparently we can't stay long. So we need to get down to business.”
“Right,” Tatum says. “Then you need to tell me everything about you. We have to figure out what you need to do to cross to the other side.”
“No,” Molly says. She reaches out and picks up a stuffed animal from where it fell off the bed. A teddy bear Tatum has had forever. Molly turns it over in her hands, admiring the toy. “I'm not here because of me. I want to hear your story. You need help, Tatum.”
“I'm fine,” Tatum says. She wants to grab that bear and throw it across the room. Why can't Molly let this go? Tatum's life is dull as dishwater compared to Molly's. Can't she see this? If Tatum can help her, she'll get to be a part of something bigger. She'll accomplish more than getting Claudette to leave her alone.
“Those boys tonight,” Molly says. “I've seen them before. When I first touched you in the car. I saw something. I saw them attacking you. They're going to hurt you.”
“That's not possible,” Tatum says. “I've known them my whole life. Like I said, Graham's all talk. He's just a jerk.”
“Not this time,” Molly says. She puts a hand on Tatum's arm. “I've seen it. And as you know, my predictions come true.”
“How do you know that? Have you gone back to everyone you've talked to and asked them?”
“I know I'm right on this.”
Tatum wants to argue, but hesitates. The fear in Molly's eyes is very much real. But she can't be right. Graham Douglas might do childish crap like piss on her tires, but he's not evil. He wouldn't actually hurt her. He's a football player who gets his aggression satisfied on the field. Aside from tonight, she's never seen him get into a fistfight. He may talk tough, but he's a softy. She knows Levi would never hurt her either. Levi might hide behind Graham, but he once brought Tatum flowers. Even though she only went out with him a couple of times, Levi has never shown the slightest hint of a grudge that she didn't want to date him seriously. He's more of a computer nerd. The only reason he and Graham hang out together is because they live next door to each other and both love to play video games all day long.
The more she thinks about it, the more Tatum convinces herself that this whole idea is ridiculous.
That leaves her former best friend.
Claudette may think it's perfectly fine to ruin Tatum's life to protect her own, but Tatum knows she'd never physically hurt her. They've been best friends since kindergarten. Tatum knows Claudette better than she knows herself.
No, that's not true. She was completely blindsided by Claudette. She'd underestimated how far her friend would go to keep her secret safe. The way Claudette managed to get the entire town of Hannah to think that Tatum is a monster.
But kill her? No. Molly's vision is wrong. Tatum looks down at her hands, surprised to see that she's been clenching them into fists. So tightly that her knuckles have turned white. If she's so positive Molly is wrong, then why is her body tensed up like she's about to ride a roller coaster with no safety bar?
“Tell me your story,” Molly says softly. “I want to hear what happened. Tell me, and I'll tell you mine. All of it. My life. My death. Then you'll see: I'm not the one you need to be worrying about.”
Tatum nods. “Okay,” she says. “I'll tell you. And then
you'll
see. There's nothing to worry about.”
She begins to talk.
After Claudette's pregnancy scare, Tatum found herself unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned the entire night. It wasn't just the words that had come out of Claudette's mouth that scared her, but the tone.
If he leaves me, I'll kill myself.
That wasn't the Claudette she knew.
Claudette was confident. She knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. She always knew the exact perfect things to say to keep a boy's attention. She never had trouble getting guys to chase after her by the dozen. She was also a great friend. As far back as Tatum could remember, Claudette had been there for her. Whether it meant driving her home every day for a month when Tatum broke her foot, or hanging out all night when Tatum's old cat, Puffy Snuggleface, finally died, Claudette had always been her friend.
For Claudette to suggest suicide over a man, in Tatum's mind, only meant she'd finally gone in over her head. She'd gotten into a situation that she couldn't handle. Claudette needed help.
Tatum didn't know what to do.
She spent the next days in panic mode. Several times she almost spilled the secret to Mom. But every time she felt on the verge of opening her mouth, she'd think of Claudette and stop. What if she told an adult and no one believed her? Although Tatum was positive her own mother would, it wouldn't mean anything if the school refused to get involved. What if Mr. Paracini pretended the whole thing hadn't happened? It would be his word against Tatum's. And Claudette would be so upset about losing him, she might not tell the truth either.
This wasn't fair. The more Tatum thought about it, the more enraged she became toward Mr. Paracini. He was an adult; he should have known better than to mess up Claudette like that. He needed to be stopped.
Claudette would hate her. But once the whole thing blew over, she'd understand that Tatum was only looking out for her best interests.
She made it all the way through to the first Monday morning after break. When Tatum got to school, she found Claudette waiting for her at her locker. Her friend's face was puffy under several layers of makeup. They ducked into the girls' bathroom, where they could talk. Claudette opened all the stalls to make sure they were empty before she started.
“About that other night,” Claudette said. “I'm really sorry. I totally overreacted. I blame hormones. Forget about it, okay? Everything's good. Thank God! I totally promise to be übercareful from now on.”
“Do you think that's a good idea?” Tatum whispered. “Don't you think this is getting a little out of hand?”
“Excuse me?” Claudette snapped. “So you're giving me love advice now? You?”
“No. But I think maybe you should stop dating him. You're getting too involved. You told me that night that you'd kill yourself. That's not right.”
“I was being overdramatic,” Claudette says. “You didn't really take that crap seriously, did you? Please.”
“He's hurting you, Claudette. I think you should talk to an adult.”
“I'm not talking to anyone, and Barry hasn't done a damn thing to hurt me,” she said. “We're fine.”
“He's taking advantage of you. What he's doing is illegal. He could go to jail.”
There. The words were out. The temperature in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. Claudette's eyes narrowed before she suddenly shoved Tatum back against the wall.
Tatum yelped as her head hit the mirror. Before she could regain her composure, Claudette pressed herself against Tatum, pinning her between the wall and the sink.
“Listen to me, you little bitch,” Claudette hissed. “You better keep your big mouth shut. This is none of your fucking business. If you do anything to try and ruin us, I swear to God I'll make you wish you were never born.”