by Stacey Kade
Hello, photos and videos without context don’t mean anything. And if I tried to ask questions to get that context, it would only highlight exactly how much I didn’t remember, i.e., EVERYTHING. I was trapped.
“I offer to take you shopping, like today, or out to dinner, or whatever you want, but you always say no. You spend most of your time down here alone, like you’re hiding from us.” She lifted her hands in exasperation.
I fought the urge to shout at her, Duh! Sometimes I retreated to my room because I was avoiding the ghost of Granny Simmy, who haunted the armchair upstairs and spent a lot of time yelling at her living relatives. But yeah, most of the time I was dodging the fam. Who wouldn’t? Nearly every word out of my mouth was the wrong one and resulted in people crying or staring at me like I’d grown another head. It was a little stressful being constantly on edge about what I said and did and how I said and did it. Even worse in a one-on-one situation like a mother-daughter outing. And shopping? God. I couldn’t even act like Lily; how was I supposed to shop like her? Based solely on the contents of her closet, I’d have to assume that she was trying to look bad. She’d had no sense of her own body shape or the correct color palette for her skin tone.
“So…” Mrs. Turner said, leaning back against the door frame, as though she needed the support. “I’m beginning to think maybe Tyler isn’t the only one. Maybe I don’t know who you are, either. My daughter isn’t a quitter.” The look she gave me was full of hurt and more than a touch of resentment.
Like this was all my fault? I dug my fingernails into my palms, struggling against the urge to scream.
Yes, technically, it was my fault I was stuck here, but I wasn’t failing intentionally. I don’t fail. I NEVER fail. But this…this was an impossible task. Maybe if I’d known Lily better, or if we’d been more similar to begin with…but that was not the case. Instead, I had to keep banging my head against a wall that was never going to fall, tiptoeing across a minefield without so much as a map. And no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I was never quite good enough. And nobody even appreciated the effort; that was the worst part. The Turners, of course, had no way to know, but Will did, and he was right up there on the bitching bandwagon.
Something inside me snapped. Screw it. All of it. Will could have his perfect Lily, Tyler his confusing and contradictory sister, and the Turners their innocent and naive little flower of a daughter. I was done. If I was going to be stuck in here for God only knew how long, then I was going to be stuck my way.
I stood up, ignoring the jolt of pain in my leg. “I am not her. I am not the Lily you knew.” My words were cold and precise. If Will were here, he’d have been freaking out. Too bad.
Mrs. Turner flinched, but I kept going. If there was even a hope of me sticking it out with the Turners, things had to change. Right now.
“I am sorry, more than you know, but I can’t do this. I can’t be her,” I said simply. “And every time you compare me to her, it makes things worse.”
“You make it sound like you’re a totally different person,” she said with a weak laugh, dabbing at her eyes, which were overflowing.
“Are you the same person you were five years ago? Ten?” I demanded.
She looked surprised at the question. “I don’t—”
“It may not be time that’s the issue here, but I’m not who I was before the accident.” That was as close as I dared come to the truth. “I don’t remember what you want me to remember. I don’t know the things you want me to know.”
I heard the desperation in my voice and hated it. I raked my hands through my hair, too fine and flat to my fingers. I was wearing it that way because that’s how Lily had. God, everything was about Lily, how she would act, what she would say…I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I can’t even say I want mustard without everyone acting like I’m speaking Russian or something. It’s just a freaking condiment!” I swiped at the dampness on my face, cursing Lily’s overactive tear ducts.
“Honey, it’s okay…” Mrs. Turner began, starting to cross the room toward me, her hand extended.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”
She stopped and lowered her hand to her side.
“I wish I could be her for you. I wish this was easier. But I can’t, and it’s not.” For that matter, I wished I was a better actress and Lily had left behind transcripts of her life for me to read. But that wasn’t to be. I was doing the best that I could, and please, God, I needed that to be enough for someone.
“What do you want us to do?” Mrs. Turner asked, almost warily, as if she feared I’d suggest leaving me alone forever or tell her that I was moving out.
I took a deep breath, trying to get the tears under control. “We start over. New memories. No comparing me to who I was before, no forced attempts to get me to remember things. I try to be someone you’re not ashamed to call your daughter, and you try to accept me for who I am now.” For as long as it lasted, anyway. Lily wasn’t here anymore, but for the moment, I was. I had to be.
Mrs. Turner paled. “I was never ashamed,” she said. “I know this isn’t easy for you, either, but we’re only trying to help.”
“A fresh start,” I persisted. “Can we do that?” Because even though I understood her pain, if I had to hear one more time about how “I” never did, said, or thought something before, I was going to lose it. Run away screaming, which was not only impractical, it would also probably result in my being locked up somewhere for my own good. I knew she had brochures for a rehab center that specialized in brain injuries and mental trauma—I’d seen them on the kitchen counter.
“We can try,” Mrs. Turner said slowly.
Yes. I let out a small breath of relief. She wasn’t completely convinced, but that was okay. I hadn’t expected her to be. Any amount of wiggle room, any chance to not feel like a complete screwup would be worth it.
“Is that shopping trip you offered still on the table?” I asked, suddenly filled with a fierce determination and a captivating idea.
Mrs. Turner looked startled, but nodded. “Sure.”
Good. If I was failing at pretending to be the old, badly dressed, poorly accessorized, and seemingly color-blind Lily, well, then, what did I have to lose by ditching her? Being a new Lily—one whose changed interior was reflected by an external shift as well—might make everyone, if not happier, then at least slightly less miserable and confused. Except Will. He’d hate it. But he’d get over it when he saw it was for the best, right?
I held my hands out at my sides. “I’m ready when you are.”
It was so time to ring in the new.
It didn’t take the ghost from Malachi’s very long to hustle everyone out of my room and the hall, even Evan, who was still sputtering at me in incoherent fury. She just…shooed them like they were nothing more than vaguely annoying pigeons, telling them to come back tomorrow between two and four (even though I had no idea if I would actually be here tomorrow between two and four and felt pretty sure she had no way of knowing that either). Her tone brooked no argument, and her confidence left little room for doubt.
It was almost Alona-esque, actually, and kind of impressive.
Except…it might have been more impressive if I’d done it for myself. Once again, I’d needed someone else to step up and defend me, I realized with a grimace. That idea bothered me more now than it had before, especially with relying on someone other than Alona. It felt like the beginning of a pattern, and I didn’t like that.
“So, I heard you’re in need of a new spirit guide,” the ghost from Malachi’s said, turning her attention back to me, when the last ghost passed through the outside wall. She folded her arms beneath her chest, further amplifying the cleavage peeking out of the unbuttoned top of her white button-down, and gave me a too-bright smile.
“Maybe,” I said cautiously. Getting a new spirit guide would solve several of my problems, but also create a huge new one: Alona would kill me. Though we’d never discussed it, I was fairly certain
she would see a new guide as both a replacement and a sign that I was giving up on getting her back in spirit form. Neither one of those things would be good.
“Great,” she said, her Miss America–pageant expression still firmly in place. “My name is Erin, and I’d like to volunteer.”
I fought not to show my surprise. She wanted to be a spirit guide? No one ever wanted to be a spirit guide. It meant giving up a certain amount of freedom and tying yourself to a ghost-talker who might or might not even be able to help you. Alona had done it only under duress. There was definitely something…odd about this girl. Aside from the whole hanging out at Malachi’s and the ability to change her appearance so drastically, which was strange enough. If I had to guess, I would have said she was probably rocking some serious power to be able to do that.
Keeping an eye on her, I moved warily away from the door. Standing against it would only allow her to pin me there, blocking my exit, if she so chose. “Why would you want to—”
“I’ve been dead for five years, and I’m aware of that fact.” She ticked facts off her fingers. “I’m familiar with how this in-between place works, people trust me, I’m very friendly, I, like, love to help people and whatever…”
Jesus, she was rattling this stuff off like it was a job interview.
“How did you change your appearance?” I asked, interrupting her while she went on about being dedicated.
“Oh, that?” Erin shrugged. “It’s not hard. Just have to concentrate.” She closed her eyes and the outline of her spring-break look shimmered into view over her current appearance for a brief moment before disappearing. “See?”
It was…impressive. Even Alona couldn’t do that. Or, if she could, she was unaware of it. Because there was no way that she would have stayed in her gym clothes for all those weeks if she’d had another option. “But what’s the point?”
“Looking professional makes the other ghosts take me more seriously,” she said, sounding as though the answer should have been obvious.
I frowned. That made no sense. “Why do you care if—”
She made an impatient noise. “I’ve got to get the information somehow, don’t I? It’s not like Malachi can get it for himself.” Her smirk and the odd emphasis she placed on his name confirmed my suspicion that it was a fake.
“Wait, wait.” Confused, I held up my hand as though that would slow her words down long enough for me to process the meaning behind them. “You work for Malachi? He’s legit?” If so, he could have fooled me. In fact, he did fool Alona and me, both.
Her expression cooled. “I don’t work for anyone. He owes me, and we’ve worked out a mutually beneficial relationship. Until now.”
So Malachi was for real? My brain was spinning trying to keep up. Why would he pretend otherwise? To keep the ghosts at bay, maybe. But then why go into business as a freaking medium? Sensing that my hundred-and-one questions about Malachi would only piss Erin off, I forced myself to stay on topic. “What happened?” I asked.
She stared at me mutely.
Apparently, asking about Malachi’s fakery was not the only way to piss her off. I sighed. “All right. Fine.” No questions related to Malachi at all, apparently. But what kind of job interview was it when I couldn’t ask about her previous employer…or whatever? Not that I had any intention of “hiring” her, so to speak. Also, Alona would kill me twice if she ever heard me implying that a ghost-talker was a spirit guide’s boss.
Erin rolled her eyes and sat on the bed, giving an extra bounce on the mattress, seemingly just to hear the springs creak under her weight. Alona had done stuff like that, too, when she’d first realized my presence would give her physicality. “Look, he’s small-time. Lacks vision. He always has.”
I had absolutely no idea what that meant. Either he was a ghost-talker or he wasn’t. Except there were varying levels of ability—maybe that was what she meant. Might also explain why he needed her to get information and relay it to him, as she’d implied.
“Whenever I want to make things better for us, he’s always dragging his feet. I have to do everything. It’s pathetic.” She heaved an exasperated sigh. “But you?” She grinned up at me, again with a little bit of crazy greed in her eyes. “You’re different. I thought you were the stuff of rumor and suburban legend, the powerful ghost-talker who came out of nowhere.”
Huh. I wondered where she was getting her information. The undead rumor mill moved with frightening speed and terrifying inaccuracy. I was a little scared to think about what she’d heard.
“Imagine what we could accomplish together. All those people we could help, the good that would be done.” She shivered as if in anticipation. “It would be amazing.”
“Uh-huh.” I edged back from her. I had, believe it or not, learned my lesson about mysterious girls—both living and dead—who showed up with offers that sounded too good to be true. It hadn’t worked out very well with Mina Blackwell when she’d tried to recruit me into the Order, and I doubted this would be any different. “I need to think about it.” Which was a lie. She’d freaked me out plenty in less than ten minutes. She was way too eager and interested in something most other ghosts saw as a form of punishment. Something was not right. Any kind of a more permanent arrangement was definitely off the table.
Erin pouted, cocking her head to one side. “What is there to think about? Are you still hung up on your old spirit guide, the one who left you high and dry?” She eased up from the bed, swaying into my personal space. “She’s gone for good, I promise you that.” She tapped a finger against my chest, seeming all too pleased with herself. “And I can be very comforting.”
Holy crap. “Uh…” I scooted away from her, my brain still processing her words. “What do you mean, she’s gone for good? How do you know?” I knew the others thought that, but Erin spoke with such confidence it sent alarm bells ringing in my head.
She backed off a step, looking cagey. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”
“Like?” I persisted.
She drew back, her mouth pinched in anger. “You know, if you can’t appreciate what I’m offering, I’ll just talk to the other one, then.” She spun on her heel and started walking away.
“The other one what?” I asked warily.
“The girl you were with this morning, the one who was talking to the crying chick,” she said over her shoulder with some exasperation, as if I should have known. “She’s a ghost-talker, too, isn’t she?”
“Leave her out of this,” I said immediately, before I had time to realize exactly how panicky and paranoid that sounded. Smooth, I heard Alona say in my head.
Erin turned to face me, eager interest written all over her face. “Something’s different about her, isn’t it? I could see it.” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she would be open to some help.”
“No, you offered it to me first. And I said I’d think about it, okay?” I didn’t want her anywhere near Alona. Whoever (or whatever) Erin was, she was powerful and up to something, and Alona was too vulnerable in her current state.
“You know,” she said with a tight smile, “I don’t actually need your permission.”
Uh-oh. I’d been kind of hoping she wasn’t aware of that fact. “Wait, let’s just—”
She shut her eyes and said in a loud dramatic voice, “I claim you as my ghost-talker.”
Panic lit up my insides. “Stop!” I started toward her, not sure what I could do short of tackling her.
“I am yours and you are mine.” She finished in a hurry before I could reach her.
I winced, waiting for a cold blast of air and the supernatural-feeling shift in the atmosphere, the sense of two pieces fitting together. That’s what had happened when Alona had claimed me.
But…there was nothing.
Huh.
She cracked one eye open to look at me. “I am yours and you are mine,” she repeated slowly.
Still nothing. I started to smile.
She opened both eyes and made a frustrated
noise. “What the hell?”
“Maybe it knows that tying yourself to someone who doesn’t want you around and can summon you up on a whim is a bad idea,” I said, giddy with relief. I had no idea what “it” was, other than some kind of otherworldly force that seemed to control these things, and I certainly had no way of knowing if it had any kind of opinion on the matches it made. But something had kept the connection from going through.…
Erin folded her arms across her chest. “Are you threatening me?”
Yes. “No. Just making sure we understand each other,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s not like it worked, so you don’t have anything to worry about from me.” She turned away and stalked toward the opposite wall to leave.
I resisted the urge to call after her and ask if she was going to try to track down Alona/Lily, but I’d already done enough damage in that area. Asking now would only make her more likely to do so. Plus, what were the odds that she’d be able to track Alona down?
“You know, you seem to be in a big hurry to help people ‘and whatever,’” I said instead. Not that I was complaining; just really, really suspicious.
She paused halfway through the wall and gave me an over-the-top phony smile. “What can I say? I’m a people person.” Then she vanished.
A people person? Yeah, right.
I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening trying to find anything on Malachi or an Erin who’d died five years ago. She was a loose cannon that I’d rather not have rolling up behind me, catching me unawares.
But I didn’t have any last names, and at least one of the names was fake (Malachi), which didn’t really help in the information-gathering process.
I found Malachi’s Web site again, but it held no new information. The only thing strange I noticed this time around was in the testimonial section. First, that he even had a testimonial section implied that he’d been able to help people, all evidence to the contrary today. Erin certainly seemed to believe he was for real, though, and while she might have been slightly off her rocker, she wasn’t completely crazy. But beyond that, four out of the ten blurbs mentioned receiving a letter from Malachi and a coupon for the initial consultation right when they needed it most. The recipients seemed to take this as a “sign” they should contact him for help with their otherworldly problems.
