Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4)

by Joy Elbel

  So, of course, I made a complete idiot out of myself. “Um,” I stuttered stupidly, “No, all I can tell you is that it’s red. And there’s a super cute crystal air freshener hanging from the rear view. Or at least there was.”

  Both officers, my dad, and even Clay began to laugh in one big testosterone fueled joke fest at my expense. As if I weren’t already embarrassed enough, California Sun Kissed had to go and make things even worse.

  “ Ruby red, right?” he said, winking a gorgeous bluegreen eye in my direction. Was he trying to flirt with me or treating me like an adolescent trying to sneak into the adult world undetected? One thing’s for sure—even if my car wasn’t technically that color, my face definitely was.

  Dad came to my rescue and invited Officer Nichols to accompany him to the Man Cave while he dug out the necessary paperwork. That left me with Milan Museum—aka Officer Parker—who wanted to know when I last saw the vehicle.

  I told him when I last drove it and where it was parked outside. When he asked if there was anything else I wanted to add, I hesitated. If I was going to reveal my suspicions on who was responsible for stealing my car, now was the perfect time. I stole a quick glance at Shelly who was standing behind Milan Museum for nonverbal guidance. She understood my dilemma perfectly and shook her head no.

  “No, I can’t think of anything else,” I said innocently. “Unless it helps for you to know that there was also a red hoodie on the passenger seat.” I knew that last comment was childish but I did it on purpose just in case he thought I might be hiding something. The dumber I sounded, the more innocent I would seem. Or at least that was my theory.

  After the officers left, I decided to go back upstairs and take a nap since I was off the hook school-wise for the day. I never in my wildest dreams expected my car to be found today or any day for that matter. It was gone, expertly stripped, parts sold, and I would never see it again. Imagine my surprise when not even an hour later, there was a knock on the attic door.

  “We just got a call from the police department. They found your car,” my dad announced with the enthusiasm of a pall bearer.

  “OMG!” I cried as I sprang out of bed and threw on the first pair of shoes I could find. Suddenly, I didn’t care how crappy I looked—my car wouldn’t mind my appearance one bit. “Oh,” I said as I was about to head downstairs, “I have to grab my keys so I can drive it home.”

  Dad shook his head no. “You won’t be needing your keys, Ruby. They just want us to come look at the crime scene and offer any pertinent information. We can go car shopping with you after that if you want.”

  For about thirty seconds, I felt how Rachel must feel most of the time. Like I was living in a Disneyesque world where stolen cars were returned to their owners not only in good shape, but with a full tank of gas and a fresh coat of wax. Crime scene. A phrase fully equipped to burst even the happiest of bubbles. Even though the thought of never driving the Neon again was clearly a possibility, I never thought it would actually happen. But it did. My car was officially dead. They killed my car. What or who would be next? Shit just got real.

  22. Head Above Water

  Rain poured down around our vehicle in a watery veil as Dad carefully maneuvered the dirt road leading down to Silver Lake. The wipers were swishing at full tilt but the path before us was still nearly obscured. As we drove, Clay sat beside me in the backseat looking nearly as nervous as I felt. I had a terrible fear of drowning and we were slowly approaching the spot where he actually did. That’s when a terrible thought struck me.

  “Clay, during all that time that you were tied to this place, were you scared while you were here? I mean, I know that you don’t really remember dying but you certainly remember seeing them pull your body out of the lake. That itself had to be pretty traumatic.”

  I sat there beside him waiting for him to tell me no, that Silver Lake was a soothing retreat for him—the way it was for most normal people. Even though I already knew that Clay wasn’t normal, I hoped that maybe this time would be the exception to the rule. Just like that one Christmas morning when I found only small boxes under the tree but still thought that a Barbie Dream House could conceivably be crammed into one of them, I was wrong.

  “I hate it here, Ruby—more than you could ever know. Fear isn’t exactly the feeling this place gives me, though.” Clay paused for a moment as he seemingly searched for a way to describe it. “Despair. I think that’s the word I’m looking for. Like nothing would ever be okay again. Loneliness. Imagine being in a crowded room. Imagine trying to get someone’s attention—anyone’s attention but no one responds to you. Time after time, you’re ignored. I can’t even begin to count how many family picnics I invited myself to here—just so I could feel like I belonged to someone but they never even sensed my presence. I gave up after a while. Winter was worse because there wasn’t anyone around at all—no one that I could even pretend was my friend. Then, I met you. I recognized Zach and waved out of habit more than anything. When you waved back—”

  Clay turned his head so that I wouldn’t see him crying but I did anyway. His story was so poignant, so well phrased that I swear I could feel every bit of that despair. I had to take a few deep breaths so that I didn’t burst into tears right along with him. Now I was starting to understand why he was so attached to me. Before we met, he literally had no one. No family, no friends. He was in worse shape than I was when I moved to Charlotte’s Grove. I pulled my sleeves down as far as I could get them to go and zipped up my jacket to prepare for the chill that was about to invade me. Then, I reached out for his hand.

  He curled his fingers around mine, just barely skimming the surface of my skin, but wouldn’t look at me. As the car came to a stop, he released his ghostly grip and said, “I’m going to stay in the car.”

  “Okay,” I whispered as I tucked my hair into my hood and dodged out into the rain. Once the raindrops began to cover my face, I allowed a few tears to trickle along with them. At first, they were being shed for Clay. Once I got a good look at my car, those tears were selfish in nature. My poor Neon was definitely DOA.

  There were so many things wrong with what I was seeing that I couldn’t find a good starting place to try to process it all. Although the car was fairly old, the body was in excellent condition—no dents, scratches, or patches of rust in sight. The key word there being was. The back tires were now flattened and the windows were smashed. Almost every square inch of it that was visible to me, was crumpled in like a cheap soda can that had been squashed underfoot. But even if every piece of that metal, glass, and rubber could have been replaced, there was one other reason why that car would never be driven again. It was half submerged in the lake.

  The red and blue lights swirling on top of the police cruiser bounced wildly off of the back bumper which was hanging about five feet into the air. The front half of the car was resting at the bottom of the murky pool that caught my attention the last time I was here. If the Neon had been in the lake proper, it would have sunk to the bottom and more than likely would never have been found. I surmised that there was a reason why it was left openly in shallow water.

  It was meant to serve as a warning to me to stay out of their business—business I’d already decided to steer clear of. But now I felt like I had no other choice but to tell the police who I thought had done this to my beloved Neon. By rendering my car un-drivable, they had in fact driven me to expose them. I was done cowering down before bullies. They picked the wrong girl—and the wrong car—to mess with. I looked to Shelly for her opinion just in case I was wrong about this one. When she nodded affirmatively, I strode up to Officer Parker confidently.

  “Do you have any leads on who might have done this?” I asked, hoping that he may already know the answer without me having to give it to him.

  “No, Miss Matthews,” he shouted over the sound of the pounding rain, “We don’t have any suspects at this time.”

  I took one more glance over my shoulder at my poor car and then back at
Officer Parker. “I think I do.” As I began to recount the story about what I saw on Spring Avenue and Shane’s and Dylan’s subsequent visit to Something Wick-ed, California Sun Kissed interrupted.

  “You’re going to have to come down to the station to give that statement. And to explain why you didn’t tell us about this the first time we questioned you.”

  Gone were the winks and the possible flirtation—he was all business now. My stomach started doing flip flops. There was nothing worse than getting caught in a lie. Nothing. But I knew exactly how I was going to talk myself out of this one—by telling them the whole truth. Except for the part about Clay—that piece of information was irrelevant and would make me look even crazier than I actually was.

  On the way to the police station, my dad grilled me about why I hadn’t spoken up earlier about Shane and Dylan. I told him the truth—that I thought if I kept my mouth shut, that they would hold up their end of the bargain. They never really overtly threatened me—they only offered me a warning and I chose to take it seriously. I made what I thought was an adult decision and—right or wrong—I stood behind it.

  “Well,” he said as he pondered my response, “I guess it’s a whole lot better than what you would have done before— chase after them yourself.”

  What could I say to that? He was right. Handling things by myself was my first instinct—a behavior pattern that had gotten me into nothing but trouble in the past. It did prove one thing about me though. I never made the same mistake twice— I made it about five or six times just to be sure. All I wanted now was to get out of Charlotte’s Grove alive and hopefully with a car that could say the same thing. No more tempting fate for me.

  My time at the police station was fairly painless but I was still exhausted beyond repair by the time I got home. And wet, freezing wet. Too freezing wet to care about shopping for another car, even. The second I got home, I texted Zach and Rachel in regards to my car’s passing then ran a hot, soapy tubful of water to relax in. I should have gotten out of the tub the second I started to yawn but I didn’t. My life was so full of shouldas that you would think that I would pay closer attention to my gut feelings by now. Add one more shoulda to that list.

  The next thing I knew, I woke up choking and gasping, the taste of soap still fresh in my mouth. I could hear Clay calling me from the other side of the bathroom door. “Ruby, wake up! Are you okay? Please wake up.”

  “I’m awake,” I managed to croak back in response as I spit more of the unpleasantness out of my mouth. “I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I spared no time getting out of the water—except for the split second it took for me to pull the plug. The faster I was out of there and that water was gone, the sooner I would feel safe again. What made me want to take a bath in the first place? I stopped taking baths after the accident on Destiny Bridge and swore I would never take one again. Did I have some sort of subconscious death wish or something? Maybe I was crazier than I thought I was.

  I dried off quickly and threw on the nice, warm hoodie, yoga pants, and fuzzy socks I’d taken in with me. Usually that kind of attire made me feel instantly comforted, but not this time. All I could think about was the night I almost drowned in the fountain and how close Zach came to not finding me in time. At least this time around, Clay was right outside my door to wake me….

  Clay. How exactly did he know that I was asleep? There were only two possible ways. He either peeked in on me while I was naked in the tub—in which case he was a skanky little pervert—or he was in these dreams that I couldn’t remember and had been all along. That scenario made him a liar. Regardless of which of my theories was correct, I was furious and about to do some serious ghost busting.

  “Clayton Roseman!” I shouted with authority before I even had the bathroom door fully opened. “How did you know that I was asleep? And don’t even think about lying to me!”

  He knew he was busted—the look on his face said it all. That and the fact that his hand was combing furiously through his hair. He would make a terrible poker player—his tell was super obvious. He stood there stuttering and apologizing for not telling me the truth, but failed to tell me what the actual truth was.

  Frustrated and angry, I spat out at him forcefully, “Spill it, Roseman! What exactly have you been hiding from me?” “You’ve been dreaming every night, Ruby. We’ve been dreaming every night. And somehow, I’m the reason why you can’t remember them.” He sat down on my bed and hung his head like a scolded dog. “Nothing bad happened in any of them, though, I swear. Scout’s Honor.”

  I took a deep breath then gave him a five minute lecture on why he shouldn’t have lied to me and then once I was calm, I posed the obvious questions. “What have we been dreaming about? And why have you been lying to me about it?”

  “Every dream has been pretty much the same, Ruby— only the conversations we have in them seem to change. Every time, we are walking along a riverbed and talking. There’s snow everywhere and a white dog on the opposite bank. He always tries to cross the river but you stop him and that’s when you wake up. The dream you just had was different, though. This time, instead of stopping the dog, you tried to meet him halfway—to guide him over. But something happened and you started sinking. I did my best to keep your head above water until I could pull you out.”

  My heart sank. I thought those dreams were over. That dog symbolized Clay. Why was I encouraging him to get closer to me? It wasn’t what I really wanted. Was it? No, it wasn’t. What I wanted was for Clay to move on and for Zach and me to have a happy ending. But I was disturbed by the fact that I tried to cross that icy river to help Clay. And even more disturbed that I almost died doing it. Life barely made sense to me at some points. They say that everything happens for a reason, that there are answers you will never get in this lifetime no matter how much time and energy you expend chasing them. But there was one question that could be answered for me—if Clay chose to tell me the truth, that is.

  “There’s something that I just don’t understand here. If there wasn’t anything weird going on in these dreams—if you and I weren’t crossing any of the boundaries that I had set— why wouldn’t you tell me the truth about them?”

  “Because I panicked, okay? Is that a good enough answer for you? Because I was confused about what was real and what wasn’t and I still am. Because I was afraid to lose the feeling that I have when we’re in those dreams. Because I didn’t want to scare you, either. Things aren’t always as simple as black versus white, good versus bad, Ruby.”

  Whoa. The intensity of his words alone nearly sent me into an anxiety attack. I didn’t want to hear what he was keeping from me but I needed to. Calmly, I responded. “I understand—well, sort of. At least I understand the motivation behind your lies. But I’m begging you, Clay, please tell me everything. Starting with how you managed to make me forget my own dreams.”

  Clay fidgeted nervously on my bed, biting his lip and rocking back and forth before finally jumping up. He paced the room while he explained what had been happening in my— our—dreams.

  “That first time I showed up in your dream, I came out of it feeling—different. But I couldn’t figure out what had changed. Until the first dream with the dog. Ruby, I feel real in your dreams—I feel alive. I can feel myself breathing, feel the sun on my face again. I never intended to make you not remember your own dreams—you did that yourself. When I told you how wonderful it felt to not feel dead anymore, you told me not to tell you about it when you were awake. You said that the truth would scare you too much. intentionally place an immovable barrier

  You set out to between your subconscious and conscious minds. You said that you wanted your dreams to be a safe haven for me until you helped me find a way to move on. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

  Speechless, I merely covered my mouth with my hand in shock. There was too much here for me to process. There was a point in time while I was mourning Lee’s death that I asked myself a very
strange question, one I was sure I would never hear another living soul pose. But I was about to hear those words echo back to me from someone whose soul at least seemed to be partially alive.

  “Think about this, Ruby,” Clay begged as he kneeled down on the floor in front of me so that we were eye to eye. “What if dreams and reality are the exact opposite of what we think they are?” “What if this,” he said as he stretched his arm out and gestured widely around the room, “is a dream? What if dreams are real? What if this is our true hell—the things that we fear the most? What if our immortal souls really live on the other side of sleep? What if—”

  I couldn’t listen to another word. His ideas were so irrational that I was afraid they could be true. “Stop, Clay! Just stop! What you’re feeling, what you’re thinking—it’s all a trick that grief plays on your mind. I had those same thoughts when Lee died but that’s all they were—thoughts. They will pass. Just like mine did. What I think you’re experiencing is something most people will never have to go through. I think you’re mourning your own death.”

  “But what if—,” he countered before I rudely cut him off. “No. No more ‘what ifs’. You’re dead, Clay, and you need to accept that. I’ll let you continue to live in my dreams— for now. But I will find a way to send you into the afterlife. As soon as humanly possible. For now, you need to leave me alone for a while. I have a lot of thinking to do and I can’t do it while you’re throwing these insane theories into my face.”

  Clay vanished before I even finished what I was saying but I was certain that he still heard every word that I said. He wasn’t able to venture far from me and I was fearful that soon he wouldn’t be able to even do that. Come hell or high water, I would find Sophie and hope that it would be enough to set him free. Finding her would be less dangerous than solving his murder—or at least I hoped that it would be.