by C. C. Hunter
When we pull into the nursing home parking lot and I turn off the car, he finally looks at me. “He killed someone. He already almost killed you. What’s stopping him from trying to kill you again?”
“I don’t think he will. He saved that other guy in prison, remember? And right now all he wants to do is help his daughter. I’ll be as careful as I can. But I have to help him. Please try to understand.”
“I do understand, but I don’t like it.”
We go in, and I’m hit by the cold. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it. A nursing home is just like the hospital. Sick people are around. Elderly people. Trying not to visibly tremble, I ask for Mrs. Klasky’s room number. They ask me if I’m family. I answer that I was an old neighbor of hers. They give me the once-over, then give me her room number.
I see two spirits as I walk down the hall to room 13A. The smell of bleach is strong, as if it’s meant to cover up some other smells.
When we walk into the room, Mrs. Klasky is sitting in her chair, wearing only a blouse and a pair of pink granny panties. But to her credit, she’s trying to put on her pants. An old man is standing beside her. A dead old man. The room is like ice. I swear I even feel the crunch of ice beneath my feet.
I start to put it in reverse, because of the granny panties and not the ghost, but she looks up. “A little help would be appreciated.”
“I’ll wait outside,” Hayden says.
I help the woman pull her light blue knit pants up her legs. She barely manages to lift up so I can slip them over her boney hips. It’s awkward helping a stranger do something so personal. But I realize how it must be even more so for her.
“Did you forget your uniform this morning?” She’s looking at my jeans and sweatshirt.
“I’m not a nurse.” I try not to look at the ghost.
“She’s a kid. She’s not a nurse, Evy!” the spirit says. “I think she’s the one you’re supposed to help.”
I give him a quick glance. Does he really know why I’m here? The cold in the room turns colder. “I’m hoping you can tell me something about a foster kid you dealt with.”
“I don’t do it anymore.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m looking for Ramon Brooks. You were his caseworker.”
She frowns. “Did his brother send you here? I told him I couldn’t help him.”
“Carlos came here?” I ask.
“Yeah. A long time ago, and again recently. But I’m not supposed to give out information on the kids.”
Recently? She must be confused. “Not even if it was his brother?”
“Not even.” Her hands, more bones than flesh, squeeze the arms of the chair.
I tell her about Carlos’ child and the lie about how I’m his distant cousin. “I need to find Ramon.”
“He won’t help you.” She hugs herself as if she feels the spirit as well.
“You don’t know that.” I try to keep my voice from trembling. The old man gets closer. I swear my nose hairs freeze. I pull my arms inside my sweatshirt.
“He’s all kinds of trouble, that boy.” She reaches to the side of the bed and grabs a sweater.
I help her put it on. “Can you at least tell me the last name of the people who adopted him?”
“I could, but I won’t. You need to stay away from him.”
“Just tell her,” the old man says. “We talked about this. You’re supposed to tell her.”
The old woman turns around and . . . looks at the spirit. “Quit telling me what to do! You’re my husband, not my daddy.”
My mouth falls open. Steam puffs out.
Mrs. Klasky points a shaky finger at her husband. “Now leave. I love you old man, but you’re making it colder than a witch’s tit in here.” Her faded gray eyes shift back to me. “They say I’m crazy, but you see him, don’t you?”
I don’t know what to say, but I nod.
“Finally,” she says. “I’m not crazy.”
“Oh, you’re still crazier than bat shit,” her husband says. “Just tell her the kid’s name,” the old man says again.
“Please.” I hug myself and fight the need to back away. “Do what he says. She’s just a kid. She deserves to live.”
Hayden appears. I swear Mrs. Klasky looks right at him.
Then she exhales and looks back at me. Steam comes from her lips. “His name is Velez. But I’m warning you. He’s bad news. Belongs to that gang.”
“What gang?” I push out the words while still trying to understand how Mrs. Klasky can see and hear her husband.
“The one with ‘Bloods’ in the name. Red Bloods? No, Free Bloods. They are one of the few gangs that aren’t race affiliated. The one requirement to join is to be mean as a snake.”
“They’re one of the worst gangs known to Catwalk and the four surrounding towns,” Hayden says. “Now you’re going to quit, right?”
“My wife doesn’t like gangs,” the old man says.
Neither do I, I think, but I look at Mrs. Klasky and say, “Thank you.”
A nurse walks in and shivers. “Are you messing with your thermostat again?”
“Told you my husband does that!”
Hayden and I leave. “You still aren’t going to quit, are you?” he asks as we walk to the car. For the first ten minutes of the drive back to my house, he remains silent. Brooding.
But at the eleventh minute, he explodes. “This is why you should be with Jacob. He could protect you a hell of a lot better than I can!”
I look at him, and his words hit. Hard. They hurt. I strike back. “Don’t do this. Not again.”
“Don’t do what?” he almost screams.
“Try to convince me to be with Jacob! I don’t want to be with Jacob. I want to be with you! And it makes me so mad that you—”
“I don’t care if you’re mad.” He holds his hands out, palms up, in frustration. “I just want you safe.”
“Then go with me and protect me.”
“What if I can’t, Riley? What if I fail and you die or they do something horrible to you. And all I can do is stand there and watch it.”
I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. “You saved me from a serial killer/rapist. You can save me from a gangbanger.”
“I’m not as strong as I was.”
“You made my phone ring yesterday and you turned the radio on.”
“That doesn’t take much. I’m serious. I’m not as strong.”
I glance back at him. “Then get strong. Go back and spend some time in your body. Maybe it’ll not only make your body stronger, but your spirit as well.”
“Riley, you can’t—”
“What I can’t do is let that little girl die. I can’t, Hayden.” The moment I say that, it’s even truer. “I know I have to do this. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my soul. I know it.”
Hayden disappears. I pull into my driveway and hit the garage opener. When I do, I see Dad’s car. Shit. He must have come home early from work.
I reach for my phone to look at the time. It’s almost six. Then I see I have like ten new texts and missed calls. Five from Dad. Four from Kelsey. And one from Jacob. I read his text.
Your dad called me again. He’s looking for you.
I realize I never turned my sound on after I left school.
Freaking great! Now I’m going to get hell from Dad!
Chapter Eight
I call Kelsey on the way up to my room after getting bitched at by Dad.
“Where were you?” she asks in lieu of hello. “Your dad was totally freaked.”
Yeah, he was freaked and I’d only been gone three hours. A bit much if you ask me.
I tell her the same lie I told Dad. “I was at the library. Forgot to turn my phone on after school. You were supposed to be at work, so I didn’t worry about not hearing from you.”
“So you were with Jacob, huh?”
“No.” What about the library does she not get? I told a perfectly good lie. What’s her problem?
“Tell m
e the truth,” Kelsey says.
“Huh?” Okay, now the guilt is setting in. But it doesn’t even matter that I’m lying because she wouldn’t believe the truth, either.
“The library is closed on Mondays, Riley.”
“Shit!” I really hope Dad doesn’t run across that info. “Okay, I wasn’t at the library.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I know what she’s waiting for. The truth. I just haven’t figured out how to get around giving it. Tick. Tick. Tick.
“I was at the park.” I step into my room and shut the door.
“It was freezing outside.” Her tone carries notes of disappointment.
“Yeah, I swear I almost have frostbite.” At least that’s the truth.
“You were talking to Carl again, weren’t you? Jacob’s right, Carl’s been in touch with you, hasn’t he? I can’t believe you are talking to you ex.”
“You spoke to Jacob?” I ask.
“He came over right after you dropped me off from school.” Her voice comes in a pissed-off tone. “He was devastated. That’s why I thought he went to your house.”
“He didn’t.” I sigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me Carl was calling you?” Yup, that’s her pissed-off tone alright.
I start to deny it, but realize that story is better than anything I’ve got. “Because you think I should lose him.”
“You should lose him, but you shouldn’t lie to me.”
“I went for a walk to just clear my head about Jacob, but Carl called. I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“Yeah,” she says.
“Seriously sorry. You’re my only friend here. I can’t handle you being upset with me.”
“You love him, don’t you?”
“No.” I get to the top of the stairs.
“Yeah you do. You’ve got that I’m-in-love-with-a-boy tone. And you’re lying to me again.” Hurt sneaks through the line. I can almost see her famous eye roll.
“I’m not in love with Carl.”
She’s quiet for several seconds, long, drawn-out seconds where I see her pulling away from me.
She finally starts talking. “I get it. There’s stuff I don’t want to tell you, either.”
“What kind of stuff?” I don’t have a right to be, but I’m completely insulted and worried.
“Personal stuff.”
“We should tell each other personal stuff,” I say, remembering Mr. Brooks saying Bessie had family issues. Now I’m worried that the boyfriend issue wasn’t the reason Bessie was there.
Kelsey makes a scratchy noise that flows through the line. “Says the person who just lied to me.”
“I said I was sorry.” I drop on my bed and I hear Kelsey’s mom calling her.
“I gotta go. Mom and I are going out to eat.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” The temperature in my bedroom starts dropping. Mr. Brooks is sitting at my desk. My next breath takes in his scent, which I hadn’t noticed until now. It’s a minty smell. Wintergreen, not peppermint.
“Riiiight.” Kelsey draws out the word. “Just know I’m not coming clean until you come clean.”
“You mean about Carl?” I grip the phone tighter. Surely she doesn’t mean . . .
“I mean about everything.” She hangs up.
I exhale steam. Okay, so Kelsey may know more about my secrets than I think. Or maybe she’s just still upset about me lying about the library.
Glancing up at Mr. Brooks, I notice he appears worried. “How is she?” I ask.
“Getting sicker.” Pain fills his eyes. “They’re doing some more tests, something about looking into her bilirubin and albumin levels. If it gets any worse they are going to have to do that surgery and put in a stent.” He runs a hand over his face. “I don’t understand it all, but the doctor said that Annie might not make it. She may be down to having days. Days. Please . . . tell me you found something?”
I nod.
“You found him?” Hope sounds in his voice, and I feel the emotion explode in the room.
“No. But now I know why I couldn’t find him online. The family adopted him. And . . .”
“And?” The hope starts waning.
“I’m pretty sure he’s part of a gang.”
“A gang?” The crease between his brows deepens.
“Yeah. I’m going to do some research tonight. See if I can find him on social media.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then I’ll see if I can get information on the gang.”
“Are you going to go try to track him down? Won’t that be dangerous for you?”
Hell yeah, but even knowing that, my gut says I have to go. “Maybe you should come with me.” Perhaps with both Hayden and Mr. Brooks with me, my chances of getting out of this alive might be better.
“Okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to save my little girl.”
I recall another question I wanted to ask. “When you grabbed the wheel of my—”
“I told you I’m sorry.”
“I know. It’s just that . . . I saw someone there that I know. A strange lady who works in my school in the lunchroom. Blond hair, about forty years old. She drives a Volkswagen bug. It’s yellow. Do you know her?”
“No,” he says. “Why?”
“I don’t know. We managed to get out of traffic pretty quickly. Did you help me get across that road without getting hit by the eighteen-wheeler?”
“I pushed the gas, but . . .” He hesitates. “Now that you mention it, it did feel like you were going to get hit, but then all of a sudden we were on the other side. You think this woman had something to do with that?”
“I don’t know that, either.”
• • •
Tuesday at noon, I meet Kelsey outside of the lunchroom. Lunch is my best thirty minutes at school—and believe me, it’s the company, not the food. Kelsey was only slightly pissed about the whole library thing, but before we got to school, she seemed over it. For which I am so grateful. I’m not even going to dig into her comment about hiding personal stuff from me. I’m not up for any conflict. Zilch. Zero. Zip.
Not today.
I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep last night. Not a wink. The book Walking with the Dead was so inaccurate it pissed me off. But I still read it. Read it because . . . because I was hoping to find one thing. One thing that might help me. I didn’t. But there were parts of it . . . The whole malevolent-spirits-may-try-to-take-over-your-soul thing scares the bejeebies out of me.
I tell myself I don’t believe it. But there was a time I didn’t believe in ghosts. And until I came nose-to-nose with an eighteen-wheeler, I didn’t believe a ghost could physically harm me, either. Remembering my near-miss with death has me recalling who I’m almost certain I saw in the parking lot that day. I look around the lunchroom. Is she back? When my eyes land on the dark-haired lady at the cash register and not the strange blond one, I don’t know if I’m relieved or frustrated. Maybe I’m just exhausted.
If reading that crazy book wasn’t enough to ward off sleep, the research into Ramon Velez and the Free Bloods did the trick.
After reading a dozen articles about the gang, I know where they mostly hang out. The articles were written as a warning to avoid those places. Different members of the group have been arrested for distributing drugs, burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, home invasion, auto theft, rape, and . . . What was the other one? Oh yeah, murder.
The kicker is that Ramon Velez isn’t just a member, he’s the head of the gang. He’s the meanest of the mean. The baddest of the bad. That’s who I have to convince to give up part of his liver for a niece he doesn’t even know exists.
So, yeah, I’m a little concerned. And my mood’s hanging out with my polka-dotted painted toenails it’s so low. Toenails I painted at three in the morning instead of getting my beauty sleep. Beauty sleep I really needed.
But it’s not about me anymore. It’s about a little girl having only days to live. I have to do something, and fast.
>
Kelsey moves up, pulling me back from my oncoming panic attack.
We step in line behind a dozen other people. The smells of the lunchroom, mystery-meat burgers, fish stinking sticks, and taco surprises fill the air and almost kill my appetite.
Kelsey looks back at me. “How was auto tech?”
“Fine.”
“Jacob didn’t try to make you feel bad?”
“Not overtly. He’s pretending everything is okay, only he sucks at pretending. When he looks at me I see puppy-dog eyes. Sad and needy. I hate it.”
“But you don’t hate it enough to change your mind?”
“Nope.” Talking about Jacob brings me to another issue. Hayden didn’t come see me this morning. I’m guessing he’s still pissed at me.
But is he so pissed that he’s not going with me to try to find Ramon? Surely, he plans on showing up after school, right? And what about Mr. Brooks? We never set a time for him to show up. Maybe I need to make a trip to the hospital and find them both.
Kelsey and I move up in the line.
“You getting pizza?” Kelsey asks as we take a few more steps.
“Yeah.”
“Pepperoni?” She’s looking at her phone.
“Yeah.”
“Water?”
Her line of questioning seems odd, but I answer. “Yeah.”
“You ready for the test in History today?” She swipes her phone.
“Yeah.”
“Did you know you’re supposed to drink sixty-four ounces of water a day?” She moves forward again.
“Yeah.”
“Are you ever planning on telling me what’s going on in your life?”
“Yeee . . .” I look up. She’s staring with one eyebrow raised.
Shit. Shitshitshit.
“Pizza, right?” a voice asks. A familiar voice. A voice that makes my heart start doing sit-ups in my chest.
I snap my head up and gasp as I look at the woman behind the counter. It’s her. It’s crazy cashier lunch lady. But she’s not working the register.
She smiles. “Hi Riley.”
Were you following me? Were you somehow involved with me not being made into roadkill by an eighteen-wheeler?
Questions. Questions. Questions. I have so many of them. And I can’t ask even one with Kelsey here. Shitshitshit. But my gaze does go to her name tag. Maybe it’s time I call her by something other than crazy cashier lunch lady.
