Wicked Lies

by Michelle Areaux

  At seven thirty that evening, I snuck past Noah and Max who were laying on the living room couch and made my way toward the horse barn. A little voice inside my head kept reminding me that Bethany had written a harsh message on that same barn just a few days before. I pushed that thought out of my head as I rounded the corner and stood behind the barn. I could hear the horses rustling inside. A slight breeze flew through the air, which was a nice release from the humidity. Crickets chirped loudly as I waited for Bethany to appear.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket and I saw it was my parents calling. I pressed ignore and let it go to voice-mail. I’d call them after I talked with Bethany, but I knew they’d worry, so I typed a quick text message, telling them about my day and asking about their vacation. I made sure to leave out the party last night and my dealings with ghosts. I didn’t think that information would go over too well.

  My mom quickly replied, telling me about the museums she and my dad had visited and the restaurants she had fallen in love with. I was glad they were having such a good time, but I was eagerly awaiting the day we’d all be back home, and life could go back to normal.

  Well, normal for me, at least.

  "Are you busy?" I looked up from my phone to see Bethany standing with her arms crossed and an agitated expression on her face.

  "Sorry," I replied, stuffing my phone back into the pocket of my khaki shorts, "I was just texting my mom," I explained.

  "You were what?" she asked, giving me a strange look. I’d forgotten she was from a time before cell phones and texting.

  "Oh, nothing," I replied, realizing I didn’t have time to explain modern technology to her. "We need to talk," I declared, motioning for her to follow me further behind the barn. I didn’t want to risk my aunt or uncle coming out and seeing or hearing me talking to a dead girl. "How exactly did you die?" I asked, getting straight to the point.

  "I died of a broken heart," she replied in a sad, quiet whisper. She appeared calm for the first time.

  "In the newspapers, it states you committed suicide. Why would you kill yourself? If you wanted William to return, then why have you been wreaking havoc across this town since William left. It doesn’t make sense," I stated, trying to understand.

  "I didn’t kill myself," she wailed. "Look, I need you to bring William back to me. I need him to understand…" Her voice cut when I heard a rustling sound coming from around the barn.

  "Sadie, what are you doing back here?" my uncle Johnny asked, looking around. "Who were you talking to?" Max was at his side, only he didn’t seem his usually content self. No, Max seemed on guard, timid, almost. I realized that every time I’d encountered the dead, Max seemed to be on the alert. I wondered if he could sense their presence, too. I also wondered if he’d brought Uncle Johnny to me. Maybe he’d sensed something dead lurking around.

  Startled, I refocused and quickly pulled my phone out of my pocket. "Oh, I was trying to call my parents. I thought it would be quiet back here." I laughed as I pointed around the deserted area.

  "Oh, sorry," he stated, "I didn’t mean to interrupt. I saw you come back here alone and just wanted to check on you. I’ll see you back at the house." He smiled and patted my shoulder before turning and leaving.

  He stopped after a few steps. "Hey, Sadie," he called.

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Be careful back here. I don’t like the idea of you being out here alone this close to dark. I know you think I’m crazy, but it can get a little spooky around here." He laughed at his last statement.

  "Thanks," I stated, smiling back at him.

  If only he knew just how spooky it could get.

  I watched him walk away and didn’t speak again until I heard the back-door slam shut.

  "Are you there?" I called, hoping she hadn’t left again.

  "Yes," she said angrily.

  I quickly began to tell her my idea–I didn’t need another disruption scaring her away, or worse, making her angry. "Okay, here’s my plan: I’m going to visit Camp Nelson on Saturday. My friend, Lucy, and boyfriend, Noah, are helping me; you can trust them, too. I’m going to find William’s grave and see if I can somehow contact him. Just give me a little time, and I’ll have answers for you."

  "Good," she said with little emotion.

  "I have just one question," I noted looking directly at her. "If you’re both dead, why can’t you find him yourself? I mean, if you two were in love, it means he hasn’t moved on, either. I guess I’m just confused. Any thoughts on this would help."

  "It is complicated," she replied. And with that vague piece of information, Bethany disappeared into the evening sky.

  Great! It’s complicated–that really helps!

  Frustrated by my conversation with Bethany, I took a moment to calm myself down. When I returned back to the house, I was greeted by Aunt Morgan and Uncle Johnny. We talked for a little while, catching up on their trip and asking Noah about his job at the harbor.

  Once the sun had settled and the sky became dark, Lucy and I headed for bed. Noah made his way to his room, which Uncle Johnny and Aunt Morgan had insisted be the room at the end of the hall, farthest away from mine and Lucy’s. Even though they never had children, they still thought like parents. When we were safely inside our room, I disclosed the information from my conversation with Bethany. Lucy was intrigued and ready to continue our investigation. She was an amazing friend, and I was blessed to have found her. She didn’t judge me for my strange job or my, at times, harsh personality.

  I drifted off into a deep sleep, welcoming the darkness and calmness that only night could bring.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a week of lounging in the sun, sleeping until noon, and spending time with Lucy, Saturday finally arrived. Most teenagers wouldn’t find touring an old army camp exciting, but for me, it was thrilling. See, I knew I wouldn’t just see historical artifacts and graves. No, I would find clues to uncover when and where William had died, which would help me send a deranged and angry dead girl off to the afterlife. I’m pretty sure most people there wouldn’t have the same reason.

  Aunt Morgan had fixed us a big, Southern breakfast before we left for our tour. We had bacon, scrambled eggs, homemade biscuits, and sausage gravy. With full stomachs, Lucy, Noah, and I thanked Aunt Morgan before taking the keys to the farm truck. My uncle, Johnny, had passed out on the couch, stuffed like a pig, and was snoring loudly as we walked by him and out the front door.

  I plugged the museum’s address into my phone’s GPS and chatted with Lucy. Noah messed with the radio and seemed to sing along with every song he heard. The drive down Nicholasville Road toward Camp Nelson took us from country life to city life, then back to country life, fast. We drove through the back roads leading away from Aunt Morgan’s house and onto the busy roadway. I’d spent so many of my days being lazy this summer, living a much slower- paced lifestyle, that I’d forgotten about traffic and rushing to destinations, but I suddenly understood why people moved to the country–life sure was different there.

  After driving for fifteen minutes, my GPS announced a left turn approaching. We looked in that direction and both Lucy and I gasped when we saw our destination: a large, two-story, white home, sitting on top of a hill, overlooking the countryside and busy roadway. Beautiful white pillars stood on the front porch, supporting an exquisite second-floor balcony. Black shutters framed the windows, adding contrast to the all-white exterior. Two red and orange brick chimneys peeked over the rooftop on both sides of the house, giving it a more comforting, family-friendly feel. The house looked nothing like somewhere you’d find officers during a war. Rather, I’d expected to see a family sitting out on the front porch, waving. Instead, I saw a tour guide.

  We parked the truck in a wide driveway. There were two other cars besides ours in the small parking lot. We followed the cement walkway to the black front door of the home, taking in the beautiful landscaping, full of colorful flowers in freshly laid mulch. We were greeted by a middle-aged woman holdi
ng a clipboard, full of brochures and pamphlets. She wore a pair of straight-legged, khaki pants and a navy-blue polo shirt. Her kind smile was just the welcome we needed.

  We began our tour driving around the grounds in what looked like a luxury nice golf cart. We were given a map showing pictures of buildings that were no longer standing, such as a bakery, infirmary, Army offices, and other buildings used during the war. We made our way through the ocean of luscious bluegrass. The soft rolling hills seemed like waves as we made our way toward the large cemetery containing several generations of soldiers who had fought in various wars and were decorated and recognized for their sacrifices and achievements.

  Once our tour guide had parked the golf cart, I began looking through the pamphlet, searching for William’s name, which was listed with the men who had been killed at war. The guide informed everyone they could walk the grounds and meet back at the golf cart in twenty minutes. She graciously took me to the section of the cemetery where William had been buried. I had told her I was a distant relative, which seemed to delight her to no end.

  With a location in mind, Noah, Lucy, and I began searching through the hundreds of grave markers, and a sudden wave of sadness came over me as I took in the seriousness of the moment–we were among some of the bravest men in the world.

  These men had sacrificed their happiness, families, and lives so that people like me could live free in this country. An urge to salute and pray came over me. I took a moment to say thanks and then continued to my search. The three of us went in different directions, but I knew each of us appreciated the lives we led more in that moment.

  "Sadie, Lucy: I think I found it," Noah shouted from a few rows back. Lucy and I began running to where he was standing, pointing down at a grave. William Bradley Henderson was written across the marker.

  I sighed, grateful to have found my prize. "This is it."

  "Cool, but what do we do now?" Noah asked,

  looking relieved and bored at the same time; I could tell he wasn’t having a great time.

  "I guess we just sit here and wait," Lucy added, looking around at the thousands of graves.

  "No, you all can go and finish the rest of the tour. I’m going to wait here and see if William contacts me. Somehow, he has to know I’m here and that I’m trying to help him, but I don’t know how he knows. I never know how the dead know to contact me, they just do. It’s not like I have anyone I can ask. They don’t really assign mentors for mediators," I said, trying not to sound too frustrated. I didn’t know if my plan would work. I’d never really tried to conjure the dead before. It always seemed like they found me when it was least expected, or at a terrible time.

  Noah and Lucy didn’t argue with me about my plan. They found our guide and continued with the tour. I agreed to meet them back at the truck in an hour.

  I sat down in the rolling bluegrass and pulled out my phone to search through my Instagram to see what other people were doing on their summer vacations. After Miranda’s pictures popped up, I quickly turned off my phone.

  I began looking around the space I was in. The sky was a perfect baby blue with white, puffy clouds floating through the sky. The light wind felt good against my skin as the golden sun baked me from above. I kept my eyes open, watching for any sign of William.

  After checking my phone for what seemed like the thousandth time, I decided I’d waited long enough, stood, and stretched my legs. I was growing agitated. I’d thought that if I could find William’s grave, I’d be able to make contact with him. I wanted to give Bethany her happy ending, so she’d leave and let the rest of us live in peace.

  Again, I was wrong.

  I took one last look at William’s grave and rolled my eyes. Why couldn’t the dead just cooperate? I thought as I turned to leave the cemetery and walk back toward the main house where my truck was parked. I hadn’t taken more than three steps when I heard my name whispered from behind.

  I turned slowly and felt the air around me grow thick until it became hard to breathe. Standing in his army uniform, a handsome man was watching me closely. He had coal black hair and hazel eyes. He was stunningly handsome, and I wasn’t sure if my inability to breathe was from his good looks or the overbearing humidity.

  "Are you Sadie?" he asked, his voice smooth, like velvet. When he said my name aloud like that, it sounded more like a song than a question.

  "Yes," I stuttered as I tried to form words. Then I caught myself and shook my head. What was I doing? This guy was dead. Get a hold of yourself, Sadie!

  "You are wrong," he warned. His eyes grew darker and his expression grew somber. "You have it all wrong," he announced again, only this time, the smoothness of his voice was gone.

  "What do you mean?" I cried out. "What am I wrong about?"

  He stood motionless, almost as if he were unable to move. The way his eyes seemed to scream at me made me take a step back. His presence was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure why.

  "I need to leave here. I need to see Bethany," he cried out. I could see his body straining, as if he were fighting a literal internal battle.

  I calmed my voice and tried to speak slowly and softly. I didn’t want to startle him or draw any unnecessary or unwanted attention to myself.

  "I know where Bethany is," I stated, watching his expression grow wilder. "She’s fine–for now. She was devastated after you died and destroyed parts of Nicholasville. You need to go to her," I said.

  A swell of anger seemed to seep from of William, and his face filled with several emotions. I watched as confusion, anger, rage, and sadness etched their way across his beautiful complexion.

  "I need to leave, but I can’t. Someone is keeping me here–you have to help me, you have to understand," he yelled as if the words were on fire, his voice burning me to the core.

  "Why can’t you leave? Who is keeping you here?" I asked, rushing toward him, but before I could get close, he disappeared into the air. Angered, I threw my hands up and screamed in frustration. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. I didn’t think I could handle any more unanswered questions, and I wanted to give up, to just quit, go back to Salem, and forget any of this ever happened–but that wasn’t me. I don’t quit. I don’t run away when things get difficult or terrifying. No, I fight.

  I sprinted back to the truck, hardly able to breathe by the time I’d reached Noah and Lucy. They rushed to my side, concerned upon seeing my disheveled hair and the frustration that virtually steamed out of me.

  "Sadie, are you okay?" Noah asked, pulling me close to him as he searched my face.

  Lucy pulled on my arm, trying to get me to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have any answers…but I did have an idea.

  "I’m fine," I managed to say. "I talked to William."

  "That’s awesome!" Lucy shrieked. She let go of my arm and reached into her bag for a bottle of water. I took it from her and took a large drink from it, allowing the cool liquid to refresh me.

  "Well, it’s not really awesome," I said, having finished my drink. "He didn’t give me any answers. Actually, he left me more clueless than before. He told me he was stuck at his grave, and he couldn’t leave," I said. I could tell Noah and Lucy were also growing tired by the constant barrage of unanswered questions lurking around us. "He said someone was keeping him here. I think it might be someone who knows something about their deaths. We need to get back to my aunt’s and search the property. I need to find Bethany and her grave. Maybe I can bring Bethany to William."

  I watched Noah and Lucy as they digested my information. Their faces remained calm, but I could sense they were about ready to give up, and I wouldn’t blame them if they did. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop until I finished the job. I felt like a failure, but I had to push through my own self-doubt.

  When we returned home, I decided to follow through with my plan to search the property, as I knew there were family graves there. I needed to see Bethany’s grave, but first I wanted to se
arch the attic again. The few letters I had were love letters from William to Bethany. I needed to uncover something else that would explain why William was so angry, and why he’d told me I’d gotten it wrong. Something had to be up there that would trigger insight into what exactly it was that I had wrong.

  My conversation with William had left my head spinning. I wanted to go straight into action, but Aunt Morgan and Uncle Johnny insisted we eat dinner first. I tried arguing, but before I could even begin to plead my case, Noah and Lucy were already seated at the kitchen table and stuffing their faces with fried chicken, so I gave in and enjoyed a family meal.

  Aunt Morgan and Uncle Johnny wanted to know all about our trip to Camp Nelson. Noah and Lucy talked about the history they’d learned there and how cool it all was. I decided to leave out the conversation I had with William–I didn’t know if they’d consider it appropriate dinner conversation to share with them that I’d talked to a dead guy that couldn’t leave his grave because someone was keeping him trapped.

  After we’d helped clean the table, I told Noah and Lucy about my idea to search the attic once again. They both agreed to help and followed me back to the dark, dusty space.

  Deciding it would be best to separate, Noah and Lucy began searching through old property documents. I went back to the location where I’d originally found the wooden box that had contained the letters.

  I opened the box again and pulled out a few letters from the bottom of the pile, quickly scanning each letter, focusing on the writing and for any names or words that might stand out. That was when I began reading this one letter with a totally different tone than the others. While the other letters seemed full of longing and love, this one had a more frantic tone to it. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, turned the flashlight app on, and began closely reading the words.

  My dear Bethany,

  Your last letter left me very troubled. I wish that I could be home to comfort you, but sadly, that is not possible right now. The war is growing more gruesome and these men need me.