When They Fade (8 page)

“One and the same?”

He gave me a charming wink. “I hear the livestock are smarter in these parts.”

I laughed, fingering the beads, admiring the smoothness against my fingers. They were slightly cool, and I liked the way they felt against my skin. “I'd better move on,” I said. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

I got about two car lengths down the road before he caught up with me.

“You know,” he said, “I've got some break time. I know this might sound forward, but would you like to get a Coke with me?” He held up the dollar bill I'd handed over. “You see, I've recently come into some money and am dying to spend it.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I'm Julian.”

“Molly.”

“Pleased to meet you, Molly. And I'm relieved, too. I was terrified that you'd turn me down.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “There are thousands of girls here. Even if I said no, I doubt you'd have trouble finding one to spend your money on.”

“Good thing I found the right one on my first try.”

Does it make me sad to relive these memories? I'd say no, because that's the easy answer. However, being trapped here, in this world, has left me knowing that there should have been a million more memories.

Julian made me feel alive. His family, the people he traveled with across the country, they took me in, giving me experiences I'd only dreamed about. They never judged me. They accepted me as one of their own. The time I spent with them was greater than the entire fifteen years I'd lived before. But if I hadn't stopped at that table and allowed Julian to whisk me away, I'd never have met Walter. I wouldn't have died, tied up and tortured in a moldy barn in the middle of nowhere. I would have gone back home to North Carolina, probably married some local boy, and lived out my life. Would it have been a good life? I don't know.

But it would have been a life.

Parker comes back after a while. He ignores Mary's immediate line of questioning. Brushing her aside with a wave of his hand, he sits down on the log beside me and stares out at the water for a few minutes before speaking. Mary stands in front of him, impatient and demanding answers, thrusting her chest out in a way that makes me think she's going to bust her corset.

“Let me talk to Molly alone,” Parker finally says.

Mary opens her mouth to argue, but the look on Parker's face makes her change her mind. She glances at me, and I nod.

“It don't matter anyway,” Mary says. “Molly will tell me everything once you're done.”

“That's fine,” Parker says. “But for now, I need just her ears.”

Mary frowns and turns around, her petticoats swishing against her legs. She heads off and plops down on one of the French iron chairs. Even though she's out of hearing distance, I can tell she's watching us, hoping to read our lips or our minds.

“What if I said I know a way out?” Parker finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“A way back to the living.”

“You mean being alive again?”

Parker shakes his head. “No, not living. You'd still be dead, and you'd have to return here. And it's not safe. There are others out there too. Dark souls. Remnants of people, crazy scary. Waiting to grab us if we sneak out.”

“You're making that up,” I say. “There's no way back. If there was, someone else would know.” I wave my arm in the direction of the group; the beads around my neck tremble in agreement. Yellow beads, the color of the sun.

“No one else knows,” Parker says. “Or if they do, they never mention it. But I discovered this a long time ago, in the woods. A way out.”

I pause. “Why didn't you say anything about this before?”

Parker shrugs. “No reason to. Don't look at me like that. The dead have no business sneaking around pretending to be alive. Haunting is bad enough. Why else would anyone want to go back? Also, it's not safe. I said that. And if everyone knew, imagine how bad things could get? I don't think this pathway is supposed to exist. I think it's a mistake. Whoever created this place, they accidently put in an exit. If everyone goes there, it might disappear. I don't want to cause waves.”

“How long have you known this? You could have helped people all this time.”

“I couldn't have helped anyone.”

“How do you know? Did you even consider trying?”

“Please be quiet.”

My voice has steadily grown louder. I can't help it. Parker sits on the log, looking completely oblivious to the words coming out of his mouth. How long has he known? A few months? Years? Did he know about this place when I first showed up? What about the others? There are people who have come here, souls who could have used one last chance to go back and tell their loved ones they're safe. I look over at a six-year-old girl who sits in the sand a ways off. What if she could have gone back and told her mother she was okay? Couldn't that have ended years of grief? Does her mom still wake in the middle of the night, cursing God because her daughter isn't warm in her bed?

What if I could have gone back to Julian and told him not to cry over me? Would I have been able to do it? Could I have looked into his eyes one last time and then willingly come back here?

The truthful answer: I couldn't have.

I glance back at Mary. The Boston lady has come over to join her. She sits in the chair beside my friend, her poodle in her lap. She's trying to get Mary to converse, but mostly she just talks softly to herself. Mary glares at me. She's not happy in the slightest to be exiled from us, forced to listen to dog stories. I hold up a finger. One more minute. Or second. Or eternity.

“This place, does it let you go wherever you need to go?” Tatum's face pops up in my mind. Even if I can manage to get back to the road, will I be able to find her in time? She could live anywhere. It's not like I managed to get her address or phone number.

“Yes,” Parker says.

“Can you take me there?”

“I don't think you should do it.”

“No,” I say. “You can't do that, Parker. You can't offer me a chance and then take it away.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Parker frowns; his eyebrows move around on his face until they are practically touching. “I'll take you there. I'll show you how to do it if you want. But I don't think you should.”

“Because…?”

“It's dangerous.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” I say. “Dark souls. ‘Remnants,' whatever that means. I'll take my chances.”

“It's not just that,” Parker says. “It's not easy going back. You may think it is. We Fade all the time. Some of us daily. But going back and haunting…that's a different thing. Being in the world, being a part of it again, can be addictive. Painful. Trust me, I know.”

“Where did you go?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Of course he doesn't. That's Parker. Throw him a bone, and instead of sharing his feelings, he buries the damned thing.

But I can't afford to get angry with him. I jump up off the log, trying to hide the anticipation building in my chest. We need to go.

I reach out to grab his hand, but my skin goes right through him. It takes me a second to process the fact that I'm Fading.

No. Not now.

I've got more important things to do.

Tatum.

It's dark tonight on Frog Road.

Nine days. She's been out here every single night, driving the familiar stretch, searching for a young girl to appear out of thin air.

And for nine days she's seen nothing more exciting than a coyote.

Earlier today someone broke into her gym locker while she was running laps. They tossed her clothes in the toilet. Her favorite shirt—a black graphic from a popular Internet cartoon—is completely ruined. For the rest of the day, Tatum was forced to wear her old jogging pants. And she quickly realized she should wash her gym clothes far more often than she does. From now on she'll have to start bringing a second outfit to wear in case they do it again. And they will. Her tormentors aren't very creative. When they find something that works, they tend to repeat it over and over.

Starting Monday, she'll put a bag in her trunk with a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

Today Scott came up to her while she was heading into the library. He glanced down at her stinky gym clothes but thankfully didn't ask.

“I'm going to see my grandma this weekend,” he says. “So I'll ask her about your ghost. I'm working Sunday night. If you don't mind the drive, I'll have some free time to talk about it. The shop'll be dead and I'm working alone.”

“Okay, thanks,” she said.

Now it's Friday night and Tatum should be out partying. She should be with her friends, sneaking beers and hanging out in a field somewhere, getting tipsy. That's what most everyone does on weekends. Back in the day, she attended her fair share of outdoor keggers. There's a place they often go when there aren't any house parties to attend. Usually someone lights a bonfire and everyone shows up.

She and Claudette used to go to all the parties. Tatum remembers one particular Friday night, only a few months ago. Christmas break had officially begun, and they were more than happy to have an excuse to celebrate. A bonfire night in the woods—right off Frog Road, to be exact.

They'd just arrived, and already Levi had pressed beers into their hands. He had a pair of reindeer antlers perched on top of his head. A bunch of the guys had pooled their money and gotten a keg. Someone's older brother had gone to the store to pick it up. They'd started out selling drinks for a buck a beer, but as the night went on, people forgot to charge. And everyone was a tad too drunk.

It was a cold night, but no one complained. They'd fed the fire until it blazed straight up to the heavens. Winter jackets were pulled out, although a fair number of guys and gals ran around in just their shirts. Refusing to submit to the elements, they'd simply inch closer and closer to the fire, their cheeks and arms rosy from both the cold and the heat.

Claudette wasn't drinking. It wasn't like Tatum was watching out for her; she just noticed because it was outside her friend's norm. Claudette loved a party more than anyone she knew. Always right in the middle of the action, her best friend often drank hard and heavy. Plenty of weekends had ended with Tatum holding Claudette's hair back while she puked. That was what friends were for.

“What's going on?” Tatum yelled over the noise. Graham Douglas had parked his truck close to the fire, and dance music blasted through the speakers.

“What do you mean?” Claudette asked. She waved to Juniper and a few others from across the way. They were standing in the truck's bed, trying to grind to the music. Juniper nearly fell out as she waved back enthusiastically.

“You're not drinking.”

“I don't feel like it,” Claudette said. She turned quickly, and half the beer spilled out of her cup. To Tatum, it looked like she'd done it on purpose. To pretend she was drinking when she really wasn't.

There was something odd in the way she said it that made Tatum pause. She wanted to ask more questions, but Graham came over and threw his arms around them both. He had some blinking Christmas lights wrapped around his neck.

“I ain't got no mistletoe, but you still have to kiss me!” he hollered. Beer dripped from his plastic glass and sprayed them both.

“Ugh,” Claudette said, brushing him away. She pulled a tissue out of her purse and tried to mop up the spill before it soaked into her jacket. “You stink. And I'd rather kiss a rabid dog.”

“I am a rabid dog,” Graham said. Ignoring her protests, he kissed Claudette on her cheek. Then his lips brushed against Tatum's. “You're beautiful, babe,” he slurred. “Why haven't we hooked up yet?”

“Tatum's got better taste than that,” Claudette said.

“Bullshit,” Graham said. “What's with you, anyway? You used to be cool. Now you act like you're all high and mighty. You've turned into a prude.”

Claudette laughed. “You're so high school, Douglas.”

“It's 'cause she's got that mysterious boyfriend,” Juniper said as she joined them. “Some college guy. But Claudette won't give out details. Maybe she's afraid someone will steal him away.”

Tatum frowned. The jealousy was thick in Juniper's mouth. She'd always been envious of Claudette's ability to drive the guys wild. Juniper wanted to be just like Claudette, but whatever queen-bee attributes Claudette possessed, Juniper lacked. So she spent her time clinging to Tatum and Claudette, bad-mouthing other girls behind their backs, and sucking up to any guy who paid her any attention. Claudette often said Juniper would be pregnant before graduation. As mean as it sounded, Tatum secretly agreed.

Tatum wondered what Juniper would say if she knew Claudette's boyfriend was Mr. Paracini. How long would it take before Juniper would spread the news throughout the entire state of Washington?

“Who I date is none of your concern,” Claudette said icily. She turned and wrapped her arm around Tatum. Holding up her empty cup, she waved it around. “Let's go get some more beer.”

Funny, after Claudette tossed Tatum to the curb and destroyed her reputation, she and Juniper became the best of friends. It must suck these days for Claudette, unable to trust anyone with her secrets.

“I need your help.”

On the drive home later that night, Claudette suddenly burst into tears. Not the pretty crystal tears reserved for sad animal-abuse commercials, but big whopping ones. This was the hurt that included snot uncontrollably running from her nose.

“What's wrong?”

“I think I'm pregnant.”

A long pause filled the air, draining all the energy from inside the car. Tatum held on tightly to the steering wheel, her fingers white-knuckled as she tried to think of the right thing to say.

“I thought you were on the pill.”

“Really? Really? That's all you can say?” Claudette punched herself in the leg. “Of course I was on the pill. I'm not a total invalid. Obviously
the pill
didn't work. These things happen, Tatum. Got any other great advice?”

“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” Tatum finally said. Lame answer, but she couldn't think of anything better.

“I can't do that,” Claudette said. “It'll get back to my mother. You know the receptionist and her are friends. They go for lunch almost every day.”

“But what about that doctor-patient stuff? That's supposed to be confidential.”

“Bullshit. Someone will find out. Someone always finds out. Everyone in this damn town is too nosy. And I can't let my parents know. Can you imagine what they'd say? Oh God, what if the school finds out it's Barry's? That could ruin all our plans. Barry told me that if I get pregnant, it's all over. He can't deal with another child. It'll be bad enough he has to support the ones he already has. I can't lose him. How could I let this happen?” Grabbing a tissue from her purse, she blew her nose loudly.

“That's not cool,” Tatum said. “I can't believe you'd let him talk to you like that.”

“It's not Barry's fault,” Claudette said. “It's just that people wouldn't understand. It's one thing for him to leave his wife; it's another to get me pregnant. I'm not even eighteen yet. This could ruin everything. It's all my fault.”

Tatum wanted to point out that Barry was just as responsible, if not more. He was a married adult who should have known better. But with Claudette's tears soaking up the passenger seat, she couldn't really lecture her friend about her choice in men. It wasn't the right time.

“If he leaves me, I'll kill myself.”

Tatum paused. There was a certain panicky tone in Claudette's voice, one she'd never heard before. Her friend, the confident, tell-it-like-it-is girl, was falling apart. And it was terrifying. Tatum's white knuckles grew uncomfortably cold.

“Don't talk like that,” she said. “It's just a guy.”

“Barry's my entire life. If he leaves me, I don't want to be alive.” Claudette punched herself roughly in the stomach. “I can't be pregnant, I can't.”

“Stop that.” Tatum reached over and tried to grab Claudette's hand before she punched herself again.

“I don't know what to do.”

“We could go to another doctor? Drive into Seattle.”

Claudette shook her head. Leaning back in the passenger seat, she chewed on a fingernail until it bled. “It'll take forever to get in to see someone. I need to know sooner. Maybe we could hit up a drugstore. You could go in and get me a pregnancy test.”

“Me? Why me? Why not you?”

“You know how embarrassed I get about this stuff. I can't even buy tampons. I have to get my mother to pick them up.”

She obviously couldn't get condoms, either. Tatum gripped the steering wheel so tightly she worried she might actually break it.

“I'm not doing it.”

“Please, Tatum. You're my best friend.”

Of course she was. She turned on her signal light and took the next left toward the interstate. “Fine,” she said. “But we're not doing it here. We'll head into Everett. I'm sure there's an all-night Walgreens somewhere. And I'll need to get some gas. The last thing I need is someone thinking
I'm
pregnant.”

“You're the best,” Claudette said as she wrapped her arms awkwardly around Tatum's chest, nearly forcing Tatum off the road. “I'll totally owe you.”

What had happened to her friend? The scary moment had passed, and now Claudette sank into her seat and began chewing on another fingernail. But the crazed look that had crossed her face a few moments ago was gone. Had it even been there? It wasn't like her to be so all over the place. Claudette was the girl who managed to keep it together all the time. She'd never mentioned suicide before; in fact, she often made cruel jokes about people she thought might be considering it.

Again Tatum looked at her and wondered how on earth they'd ever stayed friends. “You can buy me a super-great Christmas gift,” she finally said. It seemed easier to joke with her than to comment on her earlier behavior. And apparently it was the right thing to do because Claudette grinned widely.

“Deal. Something sparkly and sexy you can wear for New Year's.”

It was in a Walmart where Claudette ended up peeing on a stick that ended the pregnancy fear. The results were blissfully negative. Claudette didn't bother thanking Tatum for doing the embarrassing checkout. She didn't apologize for Tatum's nerves when the salesgirl had given her a look that suggested Tatum had to be some sort of slut for sneaking around in the middle of the night buying pregnancy tests.

No, Claudette was too relieved to think of anything else, and of course Tatum let it go. She allowed Claudette to jump for joy in the bathroom stall and hug her several times. They drove back home, and thankfully Tatum's parents had gone to bed and never even noticed she'd missed curfew by an hour.

She lay in bed for a long time that night, trying to figure out what to do. What would happen if another pregnancy scare came up? What if Barry left Claudette? What if he decided it wasn't worth the stress to continue sneaking around? Claudette's behavior wasn't normal. She might end up doing something crazy. How would Tatum deal with it? If she told an adult, would that help?

The decision didn't come easily. But in the end Tatum figured she had to do something. She couldn't sit back and watch her friend destroy herself.

A week later, everything changed.

Tatum drives past the site of the Christmas bonfire and nearly misses seeing the girl walking out of the woods. She slams on the brakes, hard enough to make the car's tires slide to the right. With her hands on the wheel, Tatum exhales loudly.

She saw that. The girl.

Looking in the rearview mirror, Tatum scans the road behind her. The blacktop spreads out in quiet darkness. A red glow lights up the night as she keeps her foot on the brake pedal. She squints, trying to make out one shadow from another.

There. Movement.

She turns off the car and gets out.

Be careful. It could be a trap. You don't know who's been watching you this week. You've been here every damn night. Someone else might have noticed. And you still don't really know which side Scott's on. He could have told them all about your ghost story.

Tatum puts the voices in her mind on ignore. Keeping the driver-side door open, she stares out into the darkness. Slowly her eyes began to adjust, and the black shadows take on familiar forms.

It's her. The girl with her flowing skirt and long brown hair. The moonlight catches her movements as she climbs out of the ditch. She carefully wipes some dirt off her skirt before stepping up onto the road.

“Molly.”

The girl smiles. No, that's not quite right. Her face explodes in emotion. Relief. Surprise. Happiness. The sides of her lips quiver and turn upward. “Tatum.”

They both pause, looking at one another.

Tatum doesn't know where to go from here. There are so many questions she wants to ask, but suddenly they all seem stupid. Molly stands a few feet away from her, looking real and solid, not ghostly at all. What if Tatum's wrong about that? What if Molly is just some girl who happens to enjoy walking late at night along Frog Road? How dumb is Tatum going to appear if she starts going off like this is some sort of Halloween joke?