When They Fade (23 page)

“You're like a little monkey,” he said. “And I got some stuff to get from the van. Best you quiet down now.”

He grabbed hold of the back of my head and slammed my face into the wooden floor. Everything went black.

When I came to, I was staring down at my feet. He'd hoisted me up against one of the sturdy posts and wrapped several coils of rope around my stomach and shoulders to keep me vertical. My hands ached behind me, tied tightly to the point where my fingers tingled. When I made a fist with my hand, I could feel the blood swelling beneath my skin. My feet were tied too, my sandals removed and flung into a corner of the room. I helplessly twisted my toes around in the dust.

Walter stood in the far corner. He'd brought in the oil lamp from the van, and the glow of the glass made me realize that a lot of time had passed. The barn doors were closed, but there was no light slipping between the cracks. Only darkness. Night had come. I wondered if Julian was home yet and if he was wondering where I was. Would he and Olivia even think to worry yet? Maybe not. They'd probably just assume we were still in town.

Walter had brought in a toolbox and was emptying everything onto the floor. Some of the tools were ordinary: pliers, a hammer, a rusty saw. There were also assorted knives, including butcher knives and scalpels. A long roll of plastic and some duct tape leaned against the wall beside a bucket. My bicycle was there too, along with the bag of jewelry I hadn't delivered.

“How's your head feel?”

I don't know how he knew I'd come around. I hadn't said a word, and he still had his back to me. I didn't answer. I might not have known much, but I knew my stirring would trigger some new event that I definitely wouldn't enjoy.

“I know you're awake. You're panting like a dog in heat. I can hear your heart racing from here, little birdie. Thump. Thump. Thump.”

“Please let me go home, Walter.”

“That's not gonna happen, Molly.”

“Why not? I'm not going to say anything to anyone. They never have to know.”

It's funny how people always say the exact same things when they're about to die. They beg to be released, make promises never to tell a single soul, anything to try and grasp for that last straw. That final desperation. The same words are always spoken, regardless of sex or age. Everyone in my ghostly world said those very words at one point or another. We all begged for our lives, hoping to get some understanding from our killers.

But that's the problem. There's never any empathy to be had.

Walter taught me that. He told me that every single girl he killed said the same things. They sometimes substituted and added extra:
My father is rich and will pay anything if you let me go. I have a husband. I have a child. I don't want to die.
All these women tried to convince Walter to give them their freedom, but none of it mattered. He wanted the kill more than anything else. The begging was an added bonus. Just another part of the ritual.

So I stopped begging pretty quickly. It was what he wanted, and I was determined not to give him that. I concentrated instead on freeing myself. I'd do whatever it took.

“I'm gonna have to go soon,” Walter said. “Olivia will have my hide for missing dinner. And I'm sure there's going to be some excitement tonight with you not returning and all.”

He picked up the duct tape and approached me slowly, a cat chasing his prey. I didn't look at him; instead I chose to keep my gaze on the floor.

“You're gonna have to spend the night here; I hope you don't mind. I'll be able to come back over tomorrow once it's safe.”

When I didn't answer, Walter used the duct tape to cover my mouth. When he was finished, he leaned back and examined his work.

“Ain't no one gonna hear you anyway, but I need to be careful,” he said. “Remember, there's no one around for miles. It's just you and me.”

The knife appeared in his hand. He brought the metal edge against my skin, scratching a line down my arm without drawing blood. I tried to gasp in shock, but of course no sounds came out. Just a heavy whooshing of air passing quickly through my nose.

When the blade cut skin, my eyes grew wide. A slice along my cheek, sending white-hot pain along my face. My mouth tried to open, but Walter had done his job properly. I couldn't scream.

“Now we're even,” Walter said, pointing to his own face where I'd scratched him. “I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining that one. But it should heal up before the police ask any questions.”

He turned and went over to the lantern. He twisted the knob and the flame slowly flickered and died, sending us both into darkness.

“See you tomorrow, darling.”

I waited until I heard the van start up and Walter drive off. Then I began to struggle. I twisted my limbs into as many positions as I could, desperately trying to free myself. But the rope was strong, and after a few hours all I'd managed to do was bloody the skin at my wrists and ankles. I thought the wetness might work in my favor by making the rope more slippery, but it didn't happen.

The tears came next. They rolled down my face, and my nose got all stuffed up to the point where I couldn't breathe. I panicked, thinking that I'd suffocate. Snot dripped down my face, sending a terrible itch crawling along my skin. It drove me mad, and I spent a good amount of time trying to make it stop by rubbing my chin against my blouse. It only made more of a mess and didn't give me any satisfaction.

Finally I gave up, exhausted, and closed my eyes. I wasn't going to get free. I'd still be there when Walter showed up bright and early. I'd just have to figure out a way to outsmart him.

I began to think about my family. I tried to picture Marcus and Dad, sitting at home, watching TV, beers in their hands. Why hadn't I called home? All that ridiculous fear that Dad might try and take me away from my new family. I wished he'd actually found a way to track me down and do it.

When I got out of this, calling him was going to be the very first thing I did.

I pictured Julian and Olivia by the campfire, listening to Walter spin a tale about my whereabouts. I was sure he'd probably told them he hadn't even seen me that morning; he wouldn't admit to having given me a ride. He was probably pretending to be just as worried as everyone else. Dark hatred spread through my chest, making me wish a thousand different forms of revenge against him. When I got free, I was going to inflict every single one of them on him.

Poor Julian. He had to be so worried.

I stood all night long, legs cramping, wrists swelling, pain shooting through my body every time I tried to get more comfortable. I didn't think I'd ever be able to sleep, but eventually exhaustion took over.

“Rise and shine, darling.”

I was already awake, had been for hours, dreading the moment I'd hear the van pull up to the barn. Walter had a thermos of coffee in his hands and a bag of doughnuts. He put them down on the floor before coming over to check how much I'd loosened my bonds during the night. He yanked and tugged, making my raw skin scream, before leaning back with a grin on his face.

“What can I say? I'm good.”

Then he backhanded me across the face. My head jerked, slamming against the wood post. Not a sound escaped my duct-taped lips. Walter gave me another sadistic grin before he tore the tape free.

I gasped.

“You look terrible, darling.”

My eyes were swollen from crying, and I could feel my cheek beginning to puff up from the smack. I'm sure I looked bad, but that wasn't exactly high on my list of concerns. Walter's face looked fine: the scratch I'd made had already begun to disappear.

“You'll never guess where I'm supposed to be right now,” Walter said as he went over and poured himself some coffee. “I'm going around to all the shops to inquire about whether or not you showed up yesterday. What sort of answer do you think I'm going to get from everyone?”

I didn't say a word. I had my eyes on his coffee. My mouth was dry from crying all the liquid out of my body last night. As much as I loathed the idea, I considered asking him if I could have a sip.

“Your boy is devastated. I spent the whole night consoling him. Poor thing. He's at the police station with Olivia this morning. But I'm pretty sure the fuzz won't try too hard to find you. Not some little hippie chick. They don't care much for people like us.” Walter noticed the longing in my eyes. He held up the coffee cup. “You want some of this.”

I nodded in spite of myself.

He threw the coffee in my face. Thankfully, it wasn't hot enough to burn. Warm liquid dripped down my face, and I stuck my tongue out, trying to get the few remaining drops as Walter laughed at my predicament.

“Time to get this party started,” he finally announced. He went over to his toolbox and pulled out some bolt cutters. Then he went over to my bicycle. “You love this rusty old thing, don't you?” Bending down, he cut through one of the tire spokes. Once it was free, he brought it over: a long, thick needle, which he held up and positioned right in front of my eye.

“Look at me,” he said. “If you close your eyes, I'm going to stick this right through your socket.”

I didn't blink. The spoke inched closer and closer, to the point that I could almost feel it pushing air against my skin. Never in my life had I wanted to blink so badly. Everything burned, and if I hadn't been so dehydrated, I probably would have been bawling. Finally I had no choice.

I blinked.

“No, not yet. I want you to see everything I'm going to do to you.”

Walter pulled back his hand and drove the spoke into my shoulder.

I screamed. The first of many.

Tatum's eyes grow wide for a brief second before she moans and goes back into her state of semiconsciousness. I want to stop. I don't want to be having this conversation. Not now, not ever.

“He tortured me for several days,” I say. “Going back and forth between me and the family. He even joined in on the search when the police finally agreed to get involved. The day he finally killed me, he came to tell me that my father had flown in from Dixby.”

Tatum's eyes flutter.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “I wanted to hear it. I thought maybe it would give you closure. Get you to the light.”

I smile down at her. “It's okay; I don't mind being a ghost. I get to meet some interesting people. And I have Parker. Just like you have Scott. I'm not alone.”

“I'm tired, Molly.”

“I know you are. Try and stay awake a little longer. Help is coming.”

We sit in the darkness of the barn. The oil lamp is down to fumes, and the fire flickers as it steadily grows smaller. The noise outside has quieted in the past few minutes.

In the distance I hear a siren.

“Tatum. Hold on.” I rub my hand along her arm. Her skin is clammy and cold. “Help is here.”

The barn door slides open. Parker steps inside, looking frazzled. He comes over and joins us on the floor.

“Come on,” he says to me. “The ambulance is on its way. I think it's best that we clear out. Too much we can't explain.”

“The Remnants?”

“Gone. They scattered when they realized we weren't going down without a fight. For a bunch of scary ghost killers, they're nancy boys, don't you think? Either way, I don't believe they'll be bothering us anymore.”

“Tatum?”

She isn't responsive. I instantly press my head against her chest. The heartbeat is still there, but it's slow and weak. The siren grows louder, and red lights flash through the barn's doors.

“Come on,” Parker says. “Let's go greet them.”

We step out into the yard.

Most of the ghosts are gone or in the process of dropping their stones. The dog lady has gathered her pet into her arms. She waves at me and steps back into the shadows, disappearing in a poof of white fluff.

Soon all that's left is a bunch of confused teenagers. Whatever hatred seized them earlier appears to have faded. Some of them have already left, either by running through the woods or escaping to their vehicles. An ambulance and a police car have pulled up next to the few remaining cars. Red and blue lights make the trees glow, and a spotlight shines straight toward the barn.

I run over to the ambulance attendant as he climbs out of the van. “She's in the barn,” I say. “She's been stabbed. Help her.”

“Okay,” he says. They grab their med kits and run.

“Come on,” Parker says. “We need to go.”

“But she needs me.”

“You can visit her later. Right now we should make ourselves invisible. Before we get arrested.”

Parker's got a point. I can see the police assessing the situation. They're trying to round up the rest of the teenagers, chasing two boys who make a mad dash for the woods. I can hear more sirens in the distance. It sounds like the entire squad has been called down. Parker and I have no identification; we're just a bunch of weirdos in period costumes. And the last thing we need to be doing is Fading in front of witnesses. The police are going to be dealing with some strange stories tonight, and we don't need to make it worse.

I go back to the barn for one last look. The ambulance attendants are hovering over Tatum, and it looks like they're doing their job. The only thing I can do now is wait and pray.

Parker touches my shoulder gently, and I nod. We step away from the glaring searchlight and move behind some bushes. We pull our stones from our pockets and face each other.

We drop in unison.

She wakes in a haze. She's in the back of an ambulance, and there are blinking lights and machines everywhere. A woman smiles down at her and says something, but Tatum can't understand over the background noise. She watches while the uniformed woman prepares a needle and hooks up an IV. When she sticks the sharp into the soft fold of Tatum's arm, Tatum doesn't feel a thing. In fact, her entire body has gone numb. She can't make anything move. She can't even flinch when the IV is hooked up. She wonders if she's dead.

Another paramedic leans over her, mouth opening and closing, but Tatum can't hear. White noise. Her brain is full of fuzziness. A head full of bees. She tries to tell him to hush, that she can't hear him over the flashing red beams, but that makes no sense. Lights don't make sound, and if the sirens are on, she can't hear them either. The man continues to talk, his mustache moving up and down. It makes her think of puppets. It's almost comical, and she wants to laugh. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes involuntarily roll into the back of her head.

When she comes to again, she's in a white room. Everything is hazy; it's like being in the middle of a puffy cloud. Once again, she wonders if she's alive. The machine she's hooked up to is beeping, so she takes that as a good sign. At least the white noise is gone. What's returned is the stabbing pain coming from the middle of her body. Tatum tries raising her head from the pillow—she wants to look at her wounds—but she's lost all muscle control. All she can see is that her clothing is gone and there's a lot of white cloth and blankets reaching up to her chin.

From the corner of her eye, she can see two people sitting in the chairs beside the bed. Scott has his legs stretched out awkwardly; his head sports a large bandage. He's snoring softly, his mouth slightly open, and he looks younger than his years. Tatum's mother occupies the other seat, her eyes closed, an unread paperback in her fingers. She's dressed shabbily, in mismatched clothing, and her hair is sticking out all over the place. Tatum has never seen her mother look so disheveled. She wonders if Dad is nearby.

Light comes into the room. Tatum closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep, but she still peeks. A nurse has come in and injects a needle into her IV. It must be a painkiller of some kind, because the pain in her stomach lessens, and Tatum instantly goes back into a dreamless state.

The next time she wakes up, she swears Molly is standing over her.

“You're going to be fine,” her friend whispers. “I'll be back. One last time. I promise.”

When Tatum blinks, the room is empty, and she's left wondering if the whole thing was a dream. Or a mirage. Or heaven.

In the morning, when she finally wakes up without the clouds or fuzziness, she finds both her parents waiting for her. Mom throws herself around Tatum, nearly tearing the IV right out of her body, but Tatum doesn't mind. Then Dad is there too, warm arms holding them both, and he's crying.

They're all crying.

It's morning, about a week later, when Tatum wakes up to find Molly waiting by her side. It takes her a moment to figure out what's different about her ghostly friend; then she notices the change of clothing. Molly's gone modern. She's now sporting a bright blue hoodie instead of her peasant blouse. She's got a new skirt too, still kind of flowing and retro, but she's wearing a pair of soft flats instead of her sandals.

She'll have trouble convincing people she's a ghost in that outfit.

“Hey,” Tatum says. She's doing a lot better now, and today they're letting her go home. She'll be spending the next few weeks in her own bedroom with a list of things she's absolutely not allowed to do. Mom has promised that her room is fixed and waiting for her. They've bought her a bed and duvet. New sheets. Deep-cleaned the carpet. Everything is new and smoke-free. Tatum can't wait to get back to her own room. The hospital hasn't exactly been the most comfortable place in the world.

“I wanted to come back,” Molly says.

“One last time,” Tatum says.

“You remember? Me coming? I wasn't sure if you saw me or not.”

“I did. I thought you might be a ghost, though.”

Molly makes a big show of rolling her eyes before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Your parents are downstairs getting breakfast. I didn't want to disturb them. And you probably don't need to be explaining who I am to them.”

“Yeah, I guess I still don't have a lot of friends at school. It's going to be different now, with the trial and everything. I'm sure there are still a lot of people angry with me.”

“I heard.”

As it turns out, her former friend Juniper had a massive change of heart. After she dropped Scott off at the hospital, the police picked her up. At first she denied everything, saying she had nothing to do with the incident in the woods. But as the other kids talked, and Levi got arrested for attempted murder, Juniper spilled. She came clean, telling the entire story, which ended up with Claudette's story compromised and Mr. Paracini in handcuffs.

It made the news everywhere. Teacher has affair with student and lies to cover it up. The married educator conspires with the minor he's dating and allows another girl to take the fall, by making up stories about how the fallen girl tried to seduce him. And then there's the part about the final party, in which the bullied girl is taken into the woods, where they try and kill her.

They couldn't arrest Mr. Paracini fast enough. The school couldn't wait to fire him either. Sweet revenge. Tatum guesses he won't be taking that boat trip anytime soon.

As for Claudette, Tatum hears she's been expelled, and there aren't a lot of places willing to take her. Whether or not she'll be charged with anything is anyone's guess. She's still claiming that she was under Mr. Paracini's spell. Half the town thinks she's an innocent girl; the other half screams teenage temptress. But the investigation isn't over yet.

Although Tatum is still a minor and the news can't identify her, the Internet is abuzz with gossip. It only took a day for her real name and picture to surface. Facebook fan pages have been set up in her name, and she's getting all sorts of attention. People have sent her cards, flowers, and gifts from all over the world. Her room began to overflow, and Mom started sending the presents to the children's ward. Then the cancer ward. Then anywhere else in the hospital they could find an empty table.

Apparently several magazines and newspapers have sent reporters to try and interview her. Dad has chased them away. But Tatum is certain she'll be able to convince him otherwise. The price tag they're offering is more than enough for her to go to any college in the world.

“It's weird,” Tatum says. “I'm used to getting all sorts of negative attention. This positive stuff is kind of new; you'd think I'd be all over it. But I don't want to face it just yet.”

“I don't blame you,” Molly says.

“Mom says it'll die down, but it won't. Not for a while.”

“Not until another story replaces it.”

“Exactly. How long are you going to stick around?”

“A few more minutes. I need to make sure you're okay.”

Tatum grins. “I'm good. Better than ever. And I've got a fancy scar. Scott says it makes me look cuter. But yeah, no more bikinis for a while. I might even have to have some plastic surgery. Yikes.”

“I'm so happy for you…” The words trail from Molly's mouth.

“You told me your story,” Tatum says. “Most of it. I remember that much. I guess it was enough. I don't think I want to hear the ending anyway. It wasn't a happily-ever-after.”

“That's not true,” Molly says. “My story isn't over yet.”

“But you're dead. You died. Walter took your life and now you're a ghost, forever stuck on Frog Road.”

Molly laughs. “It's not so bad. If it weren't for my hitchhiking, I never would have met you. My world now, it's better. We've been given hope, and it's you that brought it. And you saved me, Tatum. It may not have been the big white light you were hoping for, but you changed things in a way I hope you never know.”

“Why not?”

“Because you're not going to die for a long time. The people I associate with, we all have a bit of a violent history. But not you—when it's your time, it will be different.” Molly laughs again. “Old age. You hear me? You've got no choice now but to live to be a hundred. Maybe two hundred.”

“No more murder for me,” Tatum agrees.

Molly leans down and kisses her on the cheek. It's suddenly too final for Tatum. She doesn't want Molly to go. She reaches out and takes her friend's hand.

“Will I see you again?”

“Maybe,” Molly says. She reaches into the pocket of her hoodie and pulls out a pebble. “It's been an honor knowing you.”

“I'm glad I met you,” Tatum agrees. “You're the best friend I've ever had.”

“Give Scott my regards,” Molly says, and the stone drops from her fingers, bouncing off the linoleum as she fades away.

In the distance, Tatum can hear her parents returning from the coffee shop. She presses the button to make her mattress move so she's sitting up. Hopefully Mom brought her a doughnut. It's true what they say about hospital food sucking. Tatum never wants to see lime Jell-O again.