Give Up The Ghost

by Megan Crewe

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “She’ll be fine. She’s got lots of connections, right? Even if something did go wrong with this one, she’d still be writing.”

  “You’re right,” Paige said, nodding to herself more than to me. “She’ll be okay.”

  I tipped my head back as she floated there, and found myself studying her in a way I hadn’t in a long time. As of today, I knew two dead people who’d stayed and then gone. One had stuck around maybe eighty years, and the other, hardly eighty days.

  What was the difference? Was it something I had done? Was there something I should be doing for Paige that I didn’t even realize?

  But I hadn’t been anywhere near Chester when he vanished. And . . . even as the thought niggled at me, I couldn’t quite believe that Mrs. Reed would have felt comfortable leaving her son in my hands.

  Maybe she’d just known he was going to be okay now. Maybe it was him, not me. She’d seen something in him that told her he was coming out of it, that he’d get through. That made more sense. And considering how well my attempt at being a friend had gone, it’d be much better for him.

  Oh, please, let that be it.

  Paige drifted down beside me. I glanced over at her. If there was something tying her here, the way Mrs. Reed’s worry for Tim had tied her—if that was what had tied her—I rubbed my forehead with the heels of my hands. Trying to think it through was only giving me a headache. I’d accepted a while ago that there were some parts of death I just couldn’t understand, that all I could do was muddle along with what I did know. Nothing had changed that. I’d just added to the list of mysteries.

  Still, I couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. “Paige, why are you here?”

  She stopped short, a couple feet off the bed. “I wanted to tell you about Mom,” she said, sounding hurt. “Why do you think?”

  “No, I mean here at all.”

  “What?”

  “Well . . .” I grimaced, wishing I hadn’t talked myself into this spot. “It’s just, not everybody stays, after. Like Grandma McKenna and Grandpa Finch. You don’t see them around here. They’re just gone. But you are here. That’s what I mean.”

  Paige had been twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. Now her hand fell to her lap. “You don’t want me here?”

  “No, no. Of course I do.” I shifted toward her, unable to speak for a second. “I just want to know why. In case . . .” In case I could make her happier. In case I could help her move on, if there was something she was holding on to. I swallowed thickly. I couldn’t imagine this room without Paige. To wake up and not have her glow warming the room, her smile lighting up her face . . .

  But she wasn’t meant to be here. I knew that. The dead were meant to be wherever they all went, eventually. It would be so selfish of me not to wonder, not to do what I could for her, just because I’d miss her.

  “I haven’t got a clue,” Paige said. “I’m here because I’m here. I didn’t decide it. Why are you asking this stuff?”

  I didn’t figure she’d enjoy the story of Tim and his mom. “What about—Have you ever talked to other people, people like you? Haven’t you asked?”

  She started sniffling, and I felt like a real jerk. How could I explain that I was only asking this for her sake? I scooted even closer to her, as close as I could get to hugging.

  “Cassie,” she said, “the only person who talks to me is you.”

  I pulled up my knees and lay my head on my arms, looking at her. Norris and Bitzy shared a building, knew each other, and still could go months with hardly a word between them unless I intervened. Of course Paige wouldn’t think to go badgering some dead stranger for answers. As if any of them had more answers than she did.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just trying to understand.”

  Paige floated into the corner. She watched me from there, her eyes dark.

  “I don’t think there’s anything to understand,” she murmured. “Things just are the way they are.” Then she slipped through the wall, and I was alone.

  CHAPTER

  14

  The next morning I went through the motions of eating breakfast and packing my school things, my head in a fog. I’d see Tim at school today. Even if he didn’t want to talk to me, I could at least know that he was okay. Maybe now, with his mom really gone, he’d start dealing with it instead of searching for what he’d lost. Maybe he’d start getting better.

  I hoped for that so hard my chest ached.

  As I walked up to Frazer, I couldn’t help glancing over at Chester’s ash tree. I broke from the path to the front doors and ambled over for a visit. The pale green leaves fluttered along the branches, which were as skinny as Chester’s arms had been. I touched the trunk, running my fingers up and down the smooth bark. There was only silence, me, and the tree.

  Chester wasn’t coming back. No more shy grin, no more longing gazes at the cars that pulled by, just no more.

  My hand dropped to my side. I knew that. Maybe he’d found something, something that had filled a gap that kept him here, something that had released him. With luck, he was happy wherever he’d ended up.

  With luck, so was Mrs. Reed.

  Inside the school, everything looked the same, sounded the same, smelled the same, but uneasiness prickled over my skin. I hurried up the stairs to the third floor, telling myself it was just nerves and if I ignored them the feeling would go away. It almost did.

  Then I stepped out into the hall and saw Norris standing there waiting for me. Not down at the end by my locker like usual. Right beside the stairs, like he’d wanted to catch me as early as possible. He shimmered faintly as he spread out his hands, as if he thought he could block my way.

  “I tried to stop him,” he said. “I—oh, man, you don’t know how hard I swung at his head. I would have pummeled him into a pulp, I swear it, Cass—”

  My mouth went dry. The warning bell rang, and the students still swarming around their own lockers grabbed their stuff and started streaming into the classrooms. Even in their hurry, I saw the glances shot my way. I ducked my head and strode past them. It couldn’t be that bad. It couldn’t be as bad as before. Nothing could be as bad as that.

  It wasn’t, of course. But in a way, it was almost worse.

  I stared at my locker as the last stragglers peered my way, then darted into their classes. The combination lock had been cut; the door hung open a crack. Not enough to see inside, but enough to make me hesitate to open it. The lock itself lay on the floor in front of it, in a puddle of black stuff that seemed to have dripped from within. The same black stuff smeared the edges of the door. Whoever had done this had been very careful not to let a single drop touch the lockers beside mine. This was all for me.

  I stepped closer, touched one of the splotches. It was thick and sticky, and when I brought my finger back to my face it smelled like asphalt. Tar. Someone had decorated my locker with tar.

  With the same finger, I nudged the door all the way open.

  My breath hitched. Tar splattered the inside of the locker, coating the walls and all its contents with a layer of viscous black. A textbook lay open on the stack of things in the bottom. The stuff had been slopped in between the pages and across the cover. It was ruined. Everything in there was ruined. The sweatshirt I’d left when a cool spring day had turned balmy, the binders full of notes I’d need for exams. . . .

  My gaze shifted, and for the first time I noticed the inside of the door. The letters painted there had started to run, but I could still read them with no trouble at all.

  LAST CHANCE. BACK OFF.

  I gritted my teeth. Of course. Who else could it be but Matti? No doubt all Tim’s friends stood behind him.

  Norris had been hovering behind me meekly, as if afraid of what I’d do to him if he spoke. Now he found his voice. “It was that Matti guy. He came in right after the janitors opened the doors—no one was around—I would have killed him if I could, you know that, Cass—”

  �
��I know,” I said, dully. I’d thought things had changed, but maybe they hadn’t. Maybe nothing had changed at all. I was still the creepy girl who’d caught the attention of the wrong guy.

  You see? I thought, not knowing if I was talking to Paige, or Mom, or myself. You see? This is why you don’t get mixed up in people’s lives. Because the living are messy and complicated, and things end up going to hell one way or another, every time.

  I shook my head and forced myself to focus. Move forward. Don’t let him see he got to me. I had three of my binders in my backpack, another two at home. That only made three classes’ worth of notes wrecked. I could survive with the textbooks, and I could come up with some excuse for why I needed new ones. Obviously I’d need to do a little Internet research on how to remove tar—if I could clean this up without all the fuss that would come from the administration finding out, my life would be so much simpler. But now, right now, I maybe had thirty seconds before the bell rang and I was supposed to be sitting at a desk in my biology class downstairs. Another unexplained absence and Mr. Gerry might feel the need to extend his guidance to my parents. The rest could wait.

  I pushed my locker closed and rushed down the hall. I was halfway to the stairwell when Tim stepped out of it.

  I froze instinctively. As much as I’d worried, as much as I’d counted on seeing him here today, suddenly all I wanted to do was hide. But I was standing in the middle of an empty hall, everyone else already in their classes where they were supposed to be—he would’ve had to be blind not to see me. He nodded to me, walked over, slowly, and stopped in front of me, teetering like he couldn’t quite find his balance. I swallowed. Man, he looked rough.

  “Hey, Cass,” he said, and rubbed his eyes. It looked like every speck of color from the rest of his face had pooled under them. I hadn’t known circles could get that dark.

  “You look awful,” I blurted out. “You should have stayed home if you’re that out of it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  His voice said different: It was creakier than the Oldsmobile. He pulled a juice bottle out of his backpack, uncapped it, and gulped, once, twice. The stuff inside had the amber glow of apple juice, but when he lowered the bottle, my nose prickled with the smell of alcohol. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. The fringe of hair there lay on his skin like dead grass.

  “Fine,” he said, smoother now.

  The last bell rang. My hands clenched. Every second that passed now was another second closer to Mrs. Canning finishing off the attendance, sending the folder down to the office with A for absent marked next to my name. But there was no way I could leave Tim like this.

  “You’ll get suspended, bringing that stuff into the school.”

  “You going to tell on me?”

  “No, but—”

  “Good.” He dropped the bottle into his bag and jerked his head toward the stairwell. “Let’s go.”

  He reached for my arm, and I dodged him easily. His aim was so bad he’d probably have missed me standing still.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Go where? What are you talking about?”

  “Home,” he said. “We’re going home. She’ll be back by now, right? I need you to make sure. Don’t have to talk to her. Just need to know.”

  No, she wouldn’t be back. She wouldn’t be because for some stupid reason she’d apparently decided everything was right in the world, time to move on, when clearly Tim was only falling further and further apart. Why did I have to be the one left to deal with it, standing here with a catch in my throat and no idea what to do?

  “Didn’t we make a deal that you weren’t going to ask me about this anymore?”

  Tim smiled faintly. “My dad’s gone till Wednesday. You can’t tell him anything.”

  I paused. “I can’t tell you anything either. She’s gone, Tim. You should go home. Eat something. Get some rest. Stop drinking that crap.”

  “First you come,” he said. “Then I’ll do all that. Promise.”

  “Are you listening? It won’t do any good.” I touched his elbow, nudging him toward the stairs. “I know this is really hard and you’re really upset—maybe if you talked to someone—”

  “Don’t want to talk. Everyone’s been calling. Turned off my phone. As if they give a damn.”

  “Your mom wanted you to call your aunt. Would you do that?”

  He shook his head. “Just come,” he said. “Please. Please. Please.” His voice broke on the last repetition, and for an awful, gut-twisting moment, I thought he was going to start bawling right there in the middle of school with me. Then he blinked, the teary glint fading from his eyes. He stared down at our shoes, looking as hopelessly lost as one of those Save the Children kids. The light from above hitting his face seemed like it might crack his skin.

  My fingers twitched. Part of me wanted to wrap my arms around him, like he really was one of those kids. Hug him and tell him it would be okay, he just had to get through it. But I didn’t know how to say that in any way that he’d listen to. The only thing I knew how to do was talk to the dead, and that was what had gotten us into this disaster. And if I gave in again, if I let him keep hoping, he’d end up hurting so much worse in the long run. The sooner he accepted the way things were, the better off he’d be.

  “No,” I said. “It’s not going to happen, Tim. There’s no point. She’s gone, completely. They don’t disappear like that and then come back. Trust me. I can tell the difference.”

  “You can’t know for sure,” he insisted. “You didn’t look everywhere. You could have missed—”

  “I didn’t miss anything,” I said. “I’m so sorry, I really am, but it’s time to give up. Move on, like she wanted you to.”

  Muffled footsteps tapped over to one of the classroom doors, and a doorknob clicked. A teacher had heard us. I sprang for the stairwell. “Come on, or we’ll both get detention.”

  Tim heaved the door open, and I bolted past him. We raced down to the second floor, Tim stumbling at the bend. I kept going. On the first floor, I pushed through the main entrance and out onto the lawn, the sun hot on the top of my head. Tim staggered out a second later, holding his head with one hand.

  “Ugh,” he said, sitting down on the steps with a thump.

  “Look,” I said. “This is everything I know, everything I can tell you. Your mom—for whatever reason—went away, vanished into the netherworld. And when she left, every trace of her left, too. When a dead person’s been hanging around somewhere a lot, and you know them like I do, you can tell. There’s a sense in the air, a taste, a smell. It stays no matter where they are, and it’s really annoying because you can’t wash it out of your sheets or spray it away with air freshener. It was gone yesterday. That means your mom’s gone. If I could fix things, I would. But I can’t do anything. I promise you, I can’t.”

  He peered up at me, wincing in the sunlight. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know anything I can do.”

  “No. Why’d she go?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. It wouldn’t do him any good to blurt out the dumb theories that had passed through my mind since then. “Most people, when they die, they go off wherever it is they’re supposed to be right away. It just happens. The ones that get stuck here, that’s weird. I think, wherever she is now, it’s the right place for her. It’s better for her to be there than here.”

  “But, I mean . . . was it my fault? Because I was trying to talk to her? She didn’t want to—”

  “No. Maybe there wasn’t any reason.” Maybe she’d thought she was leaving him in good hands. Ha.

  “She was smiling,” I offered. “When she disappeared. She wasn’t worried or upset anymore.”

  He didn’t seem to have heard me. “She’s gone,” he said to himself. “She’s really gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He gazed blankly across the street. “It’s funny, you know. I keep thinking about the stupidest thing. When I was twelve, and my pet gerbil died. It really got to me. But you d
on’t get upset about gerbils when you’re twelve. So I acted like it didn’t matter. But Mom knew. She came and sat with me and didn’t say those stupid things like ‘He’s in a better place now.’ She just said she’d miss watching him scurry across the bars, and I said I’d miss letting him eat seeds sitting in my hand, and I knew it was okay that I was sad.”

  There was a long moment when I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Of course it’s okay for you to be sad. I mean, it’s your mom.”

  “That’s not—that’s not the way anyone else seems to act. They all made their little pretenses of mourning and then it was supposed to be over, then it was a problem if I didn’t want to hang out or party or whatever.” He shook his head and then leaned forward until it rested in his hands, rocking ever so slightly. “It’s too much. Why did she have to go like that? Why couldn’t she have just stayed . . . ? I need her.”

  The pain in my chest spread as I watched him, an ache that seemed to creep right through my bones. What good was I doing? Nothing I said was making any difference. I was no good at this living-people thing. Talk Bitzy down, cheer Norris up, sure, no problem. The dead were simple, they made sense, that was why I stuck with them.

  I’d done what Tim had asked. I’d tried, and now he was miserable.

  It would have been better never to have let him get any further than that first day by the lake. Better for him never to have known his mom had slipped through his fingers, and better for me never to have gotten wrapped up in this problem I couldn’t solve, this hurting I didn’t know how to heal.

  Better to walk away now before I made things even worse.

  “I’ve got to get to class,” I said. The words sounded awkward coming out of my mouth. “Just . . . talk to your aunt, or someone, please, all right?”

  Tim shifted but didn’t raise his head. I cleared my throat. “I—I’m going.”

  I didn’t say anything more as I walked up the steps and grabbed the handle of the door. I’d already said far too much. An interesting experiment, mingling with the living, but ultimately one with unfortunate results.