Walk of the Spirits

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “Well then, maybe we should have transportation. Maybe we could use our cars?”

  “Our cars? Etienne and I are the only ones with wheels.”

  “What a perfectly brilliant idea, Ash.” Roo shot her sister a bland look. “Ghost BMW. No . . . wait. Ghost Truck. I’m all tingly with dread.”

  “Or Ghost SUV?” Despite Ashley’s wounded expression, Parker clasped his hands beseechingly at Gage. “Oh, pretty please, can we use your mom’s minivan?”

  Ashley’s lips tightened. “Parker, this is serious!”

  “Look, I know it’s half our grade.” Easing back down, he took a swig of beer and tried to reason with her. “But let’s face it—the whole thing’s pretty stupid. And impossible.”

  “It’s not stupid. And why is it impossible? All we have to do is research old places that might be haunted.”

  “And just how do you propose we do that? Oh wait, I know— let’s just knock on people’s doors. Excuse me, we’re doing a survey—are there any creepy ghosts living in your house? Ash, come on. We can’t force things to be haunted just so they can be close enough to walk to.”

  A disappointed silence fell. For several minutes everyone seemed lost in thought, till Etienne unfolded himself from the tree.

  “Don’t y’all know anything about your own town?” He walked over to the cooler and pulled out a beer. To Miranda, who watched him, he moved with all the grace and stealth of a predatory cat.

  “Well, I’m not going to flunk this project,” Ashley said crossly, “just because Parker’s an idiot.”

  Roo promptly frowned. “Where’s your compassion? Parker can’t help being an idiot.”

  “Okay now, listen.” Holding up both hands, Etienne motioned for quiet. “I think Ashley’s idea is the way to go. Say we start at the Battlefield Inn. Follow the Brickway going east, past the park. We got us all those old buildings to pick from—there’s gotta be plenty dark stories there, yeah? So if we do the whole mile circle of the Brickway with our little tour stops, I’m guessing it should take about an hour.”

  Ashley gazed at him admiringly. “Which is exactly how long Miss Dupree said our presentations should be!”

  Approving looks passed back and forth. After a brief pause, Etienne continued.

  “That Ghost Walk in New Orleans.” He turned to Miranda. “A lotta atmosphere, yeah?”

  Miranda did her best to remember. “Sort of a winding route— I mean, it was easy to lose all sense of direction, and a couple times the guide swore we were lost.”

  “For effect.”

  “Definitely for effect. There were alleys and backstreets and little courtyards. Lots of closed-in places, lots of shadows and dead ends. Low doorways we had to duck under, things like that. And sometimes ghosts came out of the dark and scared us.”

  “Right there on the tour?” Ashley’s eyes widened. “The ghosts actually let you see them in person?”

  “No,” Parker said. “Only in spirit.”

  “Actors, Ashley.” While the others laughed, Miranda tried to hold back a smile. “Just people pretending to be ghosts.”

  Ashley looked immensely relieved. “Oh, I get it! Like a big outdoor haunted house!”

  “Come on, y’all. This has gotta be about more than just scaring people,” Etienne reminded them.

  The laughter died down. All attention shifted back to his face.

  “It’s about the town,” he went on. “Finding out about the history of St. Yvette and—”

  “Okay, we get it,” Parker broke in impatiently. “The history of the town. All its evil secrets and unsolved mysteries; and the skeletons in its closets; and the curses; and the big, bad, bloody murders; and the crazy weirdos—”

  There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as all eyes focused on Miranda. Even Parker had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “No offense,” he mumbled.

  “Okay! Great!” Ashley did her best to divert attention. “Miss Dupree wants a rough outline Monday. So let’s start working on ideas and meet again tomorrow.” Jumping up from the blanket, she chattered just a little too brightly. “Outside the inn, ten o’clock. Oh, Etienne—you can come, right?”

  “Sure.” Slowly he ran a hand back through his hair. “As long as I’m at work by one.”

  “Perfect! We can walk the route and time it. And pick out which buildings are . . . historic.”

  “They’re all historic,” Roo said.

  “Well . . . scarily historic.”

  “If each of us looks up just one or two buildings, it shouldn’t be that hard.” Gage slid lightly to his feet. “I don’t mind doing some research tonight.”

  Parker stretched and stood, wrapping his arms around Ashley and nuzzling her neck. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we had in mind, too. Right, Ash? Some good, basic, investigative research.”

  “Forget it.” Pushing him off, Ashley tried to keep a straight face. “Only if you’re a ghost.”

  Roo raised her hand. “No problem there. I’ll be glad to kill him.”

  It didn’t take long to pack up. They gathered their things, and made one last survey of the area. Miranda was still wondering how she could approach Etienne, get him alone, ask him to explain those strange comments he’d made back at the apartment. Puzzling over this, she noticed Parker gulping the last of his beer. In true quarterback style, he drew back his arm and let the can fly toward one of the tombs.

  It hit its mark, bounced off, and ricocheted across several more graves. Foam splattered onto the nameless markers and ran down into the weeds.

  "Touchdown!” he roared. “And the crowd goes wild !”

  But it wasn’t a crowd that came bursting through the trees just then. Wide-eyed and stumbling and gasping for breath.

  The old man stopped just a few feet away. At first glance, he could have been a corpse risen from some lost grave, his stringy white hair matted with leaves and twigs, his torn clothes a muddy shroud, his gaunt face and bony arms smeared with dirt and blood. He swayed to one side, shaking violently from head to toe. And then, as the others stood paralyzed, he gestured frantically toward the woods.

  “Can’t you hear him?” the old man mumbled. “He won’t stop. He won’t rest. And God forgive me . . . I’m so tired . . .”

  Miranda felt a slight movement behind her.

  She heard Roo whisper in her ear.

  “Well, Miranda . . . meet your grandfather.”

  7

  MIRANDA COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.

  Jonas Hayes? This scary old man babbling incoherently in front of her? With the terrified face and snarled, scraggly beard? And looking nothing at all like the grandfather in her photograph?

  Because she knew what her grandfather looked like; she’d kept that photograph.

  Even though Mom had taken it away from her that first time and put it back in the box on that high shelf in the closet. And even though Mom had forbidden her ever to snoop through that closet again.

  Miranda had done it anyway.

  She’d waited for Mom to leave the house, and the very next chance she got, she’d taken the photograph and hidden it in a brand-new secret place, among her most cherished treasures.

  She’d looked at it so many times.

  And on that fateful day of the hurricane—for some strange reason she still didn’t understand—she’d suddenly had an overwhelming urge to pull the photo out from the loose floorboard under her bed and stuff it deep down inside one pocket of her jeans.

  She loved that picture. When she and Mom moved into the garage apartment, she’d slipped it, all crumpled and dog-eared, beneath her mattress for safekeeping. She didn’t even have to look at it anymore to recall her grandfather’s face—she’d memorized that face perfectly through the years.

  That kind-looking, quiet-looking scarecrow of a man. Craggy and rail-thin, with a thick mop of graying brown hair. With the neatly trimmed beard and the long arms and those sad, sunken eyes—eyes as pale blue and faded as his summer lin
en suit.

  And now this ?

  This total raving lunatic, scarcely able to stand on his own two feet?

  No, this was not her grandfather.

  “That’s not him,” she murmured to Roo.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No,” Roo whispered back. “He is.”

  “Why can’t I see it?” The old man’s voice was almost pleading. “I’m his only chance . . .”

  As he glanced back through the trees, Miranda could swear that his skin turned pale beneath its layers of grime. She realized that Etienne was walking toward him. And now that the initial shock had passed, everyone else began to stir cautiously behind her, their voices low and muffled.

  “ . . . the hell’s he doing here?”

  “ . . . belongs in a straitjacket—”

  “Ssh, don’t let Miranda hear you . . .”

  But Miranda had already heard. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it might explode.

  “It’s okay, Jonas. You know me. Calm yourself down.” Etienne’s voice was low, but firm. He held up both hands in a nonthreatening appeal.

  Confused, the old man darted his eyes from side to side, before settling his gaze once more on Etienne.

  “I’m tired,” Jonas murmured again.

  “I know you are. That’s why we’re gonna take you on home—”

  “Then who’ll watch out for him? For all of them? After I’m gone?”

  “Don’t you be worrying about that. You and me, we’ll figure something out.”

  Etienne had reached the old man’s side. For a second it seemed as if Jonas might bolt, but then a deep breath shuddered through his entire body.

  “I never told you about him.” His head lowered; both arms hung limply at his sides. “I should have . . . but I never did . . .”

  “There’s a lotta time for that,” Etienne assured him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me about it later, yeah?”

  With a strange sense of detachment, Miranda watched the bizarre scene playing out. It took several moments to realize that her classmates had crowded in around her. Wary glances were being traded back and forth. Ashley looked scared to death; Parker’s expression hovered somewhere between disbelief and outright laughter. And though Gage and Roo had their heads bent together, Miranda could still make out whispered snatches of conversation.

  “Who’s he talking about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, who do you think?” Roo persisted.

  “I think he’s scared and confused.” Abruptly, Gage cut her off. “I think he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Just let it go, Roo.”

  Miranda blocked out as much as she could. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. He can’t be my grandpa. And yet she heard herself asking, “Is that really my grandfather? What’s wrong with him?”

  “I told you,” Roo said. “He’s crazy.”

  Parker jabbed Roo hard in the ribs. “Roo, shut up.”

  “Well, it’s true. How come nobody wants to say what’s true?”

  “Not now,” Gage murmured, but more firmly this time. “Parker’s right—just be quiet.”

  Roo’s reply was a grunt and a shrug. Miranda felt someone squeeze her hand, and realized it was Ashley.

  Then, without warning, the old man staggered and hit the ground. Before anyone could grasp what was happening, Etienne knelt beside him and eased him carefully onto his back.

  “Call 911!” Etienne shouted.

  Parker automatically began patting himself down, searching through all his pockets. “Shit. Where’s my cell?”

  “I have mine—” Gage began, but Ashley’s voice stopped him.

  “It won’t do any good. We’re out of range here, remember? There’s no signal!”

  Emotions battled in Miranda’s heart. She wanted to run to her grandfather—she wanted to run away from him. She couldn’t do either one. She couldn’t even move.

  “Get him in the car!” Etienne ordered. And then, when nobody volunteered, his tone sharpened. “Why are y’all just standing there? Allez! Hurry up!”

  Everyone scrambled except Miranda. As Parker, Roo, and Gage raced forward to help, Ashley began tugging her away.

  “Come on.” Urging Miranda into a run, Ashley headed for the BMW. “Do you know your aunt’s phone number? Your mom’s?”

  Numbly, Miranda shook her head. “Aunt Teeta’s working.” And Mom won’t come.

  She climbed in the back of the convertible where she’d sat before. To her surprise, Etienne and Gage lowered the old man into the seat and rested his head awkwardly across her lap. Ashley had buckled herself into the front. With some hasty and expert maneuvering, Etienne managed to squeeze in beside Miranda, while Parker jumped behind the wheel and fired up the engine. Etienne tossed his keys to Gage, who immediately ran to the truck with Roo.

  “My seats,” Parker moaned. “Who’s going to clean all that?”

  Ashley was not amused. “Your family has a maid and a gardener. And enough money to replace your car every time it gets a speck of dust on it. Now drive!”

  The car lunged forward. Before Miranda knew it, they were already halfway to the main road.

  All she could do now was stare down at this stranger’s face— this slack, rawboned face with its age lines crusted in dirt, and the blood already dried in those deep, wrinkled creases of . . .

  Sorrow? Pain?

  No, it’s something worse than pain, isn’t it, Grandpa? Something much worse than pain . . .

  For a split second, her mind filled with shadows.

  “What happened to him back there?” she finally asked. “Who was he talking about? What was he running from?”

  Ashley offered Miranda a sympathetic smile, then shook her head in bewilderment.

  Straining forward, Etienne tapped Parker on the shoulder. “Take the bayou road. It’ll be faster.”

  “Where we going?” Parker called back to him. “The clinic or the hospital?”

  “Too far to the hospital—it’ll have to be the clinic for now. They can always move him later if they need to.”

  “No!” As cold fingers clamped onto Miranda’s wrist, she tried desperately to pull away. She heard Ashley’s cry and the squeal of tires as Parker struggled to free himself from Ashley’s flailing arms.

  “No . . . no clinic.” Still clinging to Miranda, Jonas Hayes fixed her with a gaze so pleading it nearly broke her heart. Then his fingers began to relax. And the words he spoke next were choked with emotion.

  “Why . . . you’re Miranda,” he whispered. “You’re my granddaughter. ”

  An icy current surged through her. As she returned his gaze in shocked silence, it was as if they were the only two people in the car.

  “I’m begging you.” His eyes closed now, wearily. “No emergency room. Too many questions . . . too many stares. Please . . . just take me home.”

  Miranda glanced helplessly at the others. Etienne looked grim; Ashley was as close to her door as she could get; Parker watched uncertainly in the rearview mirror.

  Not even sure why she was doing it, Miranda leaned toward Etienne. “Maybe we should take him home. Maybe he’d be more comfortable there, with Aunt Teeta.”

  “We don’t know what’s wrong with him or how bad he’s hurt,” Etienne answered. “He needs a doctor. You can call your aunt from the clinic.”

  Miranda hesitated. Her grandfather had lapsed back into unconsciousness, his grip loosened, his hand still covering hers. This hand of a stranger, she thought again. And yet . . . he recognized me. He knows who I am.

  “Take him home.” Miranda’s voice was loud and firm. “I’ll stay with him.”

  The mood in the car changed instantly. Miranda could almost swear she heard a collective sigh of relief from the front seat.

  But not from Etienne.

  He was staring at her, his expression unclear. She wasn’t sure if she should feel noble or guilty about the decision she’d just made. />
  “Aunt Teeta will be back soon.” For some reason, she felt the need to defend herself. “I’d rather not do anything till then. I mean, maybe this has happened before. She’ll know how to handle it better than we can.”

  Etienne started to say something. His lips parted, then settled into a thin line. Miranda deliberately peered out the back windshield at Roo and Gage in Etienne’s truck.

  No one spoke the rest of the trip. It was only when Parker sped into the driveway of Hayes House that Miranda’s grandfather stirred again.

  “You’ll help him, won’t you?” He wasn’t talking to Miranda this time; he seemed to be talking to no one. “Find what he’s looking for . . . what he’s lost . . .”

  Miranda longed to ask more questions, but brakes were squealing and Etienne was already out of the car. As the truck slammed to a stop behind them, Gage hit the ground running.

  “Let’s get him in the house!” Etienne shouted. “Gage, you go around to the other side and—”

  “No . . . no . . . you’re not listening.” Even as Parker turned off the engine, the old man was struggling to sit up. “You have to help him! Why won’t you believe me? Why won’t anybody believe me . . . ?”

  The only thing Miranda could do was stay put while the three boys pulled Jonas Hayes off her lap. Ashley retreated to one side of the driveway and nervously chewed her bottom lip.

  “I can walk,” the old man said weakly. He waved the boys away, then sagged against the passenger door, his dazed eyes scanning the house, the lawn, and the faces of his rescuers. Miranda wasn’t sure he even knew where he was. When Gage and Etienne propped him up between them, he didn’t resist. Slowly they turned him toward the veranda.

  “It’s okay, Jonas,” Etienne assured him. “You just need to rest yourself, that’s all.” He took a few steps, then glanced back at Miranda. “You gonna help us here, or what?”

  Startled, she saw the accusation in his gaze.

  “You’re the one who wanted to stay with him,” Etienne reminded her. “It’s not gonna do a whole lotta good if he’s in there and you’re out here.”

  The truth of it hit her then—all those things she should have considered first, before making her snap decision. She’d been forbidden to meet her grandfather. She had no idea where to put him or what to do with him once they got him inside. And her mother would be absolutely furious.