“Where did Jamie go?”
“Into a relaxing cocoon sleep. When she returned to her body, she was stronger. Her replacement had gotten her through the toughest moments—with enough memories merged so she can remember some of the experience.”
“Is that what’s happened to Leah? Is she sleeping?”
“Well … it’s different for suicides. But because you stepped into her body, fulfilling the same duties as a Temp Lifer, Leah didn’t die. Good for her, but not so good for your body, which was left at risk. I managed to delay the organ harvesting by causing your hand to move. But getting clearance to transport Leah’s soul into your body was more complicated. Finally I succeeded, and your parents received the good news a short while ago.”
“You mean my body isn’t … dead?”
“Breathing on its own with a sleeping occupant.”
“Wow! That’s like a miracle!”
“You’re my miracle. You have a natural skill for Temp Lifer work. Mostly we use non-living souls who need redemption. But occasionally Temp Lifers are living people who generously lift out of their body to help someone else.”
“How is that possible? People can’t just leave their bodies.”
“You did,” she pointed out.
“Thanks to my bad sense of direction,” I said, sighing.
“The Temp Lifer program is highly successful. You’d be great at it, with your natural talent for helping others. If you ever want a job, let me know.”
“Any time,” I said, flattered. “I’m happy to help out.”
“I may take you up on that.” Grammy touched my cheek fondly. “I know you thought I’d abandoned you, but I never did. I’ve been working hard to fix your problem.”
“Can I go back to my real body?” I asked hopefully.
“Soon,” she promised. “I’ve calculated your local time, and it should happen tomorrow around six in the evening. But for this to work, you must be near your real body.”
“No problem,” I assured her.
Then I felt something tugging, pulling me away from Grammy and Cola. I struggled to stay, but the pull was too strong. My last glimpse of Grammy was of her waving to me.
Jerking upright in bed, I shook off the grip someone had on my arm.
“What? Who? Hunter?” I blinked at the shadowy figure by my bedside. Gradually my eyes adjusted; only a small night-light lit the room. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry for waking you,” he said. “But I had to talk to you in secret.”
“Um … all right. What is it?”
“Dad says you talked him out of sending me away. I didn’t think you would, but you really did keep your promise. Thanks,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome. It wasn’t much.”
“It was to me … except now I feel bad for stuff I did to you when I was really mad.”
“Huh?” I asked groggily. “What did you do?”
“Sorry, I took this.” He shoved a book at me. “I won’t steal from you any more—or anyone else. I promise.”
Then he mumbled thanks, again, and scampered out of the room.
I snapped on my bedside lamp and looked at the book.
It was a journal.
Leah’s.
Forget sleeping. I propped myself up against the bed pillows and opened the journal.
Unlike Leah’s other journal, this one was crammed full of writing, slips of papers, and cards tucked among the pages. Leah must have freaked out when she realized it was missing. Did she guess that her little brother stole it?
I held the book carefully so that the loose papers wouldn’t escape. Then I started reading:
The first page had no date or heading—just random scribbles of Leah’s name looped with Chad’s, and clusters of tiny hearts:
Leah and Chad, Chad and Leah, Leah Rockingham, Leah Montgomery-Rockingham, Chad Montgomery.
Without a date, I couldn’t tell if these romantic jottings were recent or history. Leah clearly loved Chad when she wrote this—maybe she still did. Although what she saw in him, aside from hot looks and great kissing, was a mystery to me.
The next page was a shopping list: shoes, shirts, lingerie, earrings and jeans, all ultra-chic name brands. Many of them were now in Leah’s closet, and I couldn’t deny that I’d gotten a rush when I’d tried some on.
Still, shopping lists were boring. I wanted personal “Dear Diary” confessions. Skimming through more pages of random scribbles and lists, I stopped when I found a poem with no title.
I whisper in fathoms of darkness
So soft no one hears,
Not even me.
When I raise my voice,
False reflections cast lies,
Until I no longer know myself.
I
Do
Not
Exist
I shifted on the bed as uncomfortable emotions stirred inside me. Deep sadness and despair echoed in every word of Leah’s poem; the sort of thoughts that could lead to suicide.
Uneasy, I flipped to the next page. A colorful, red, heart-shaped card fell out—a Valentine from Chad.
Marking my place in the journal, I opened the card.
Babe—U R really pretty and special 2 me. I want 2 B with you always. Luvya, Chad.
Okay, he wasn’t a poet but the card was sweet and almost romantic. Tucking it back into the journal, I returned to where I’d left off.
At least a dozen pages fluttered by with nothing more than random events, such as Valentine’s Dance, Jess’ birthday, Social at Club—formal, wear leopard shoes, and Rally in the quad.
Then I came to a very different kind of list, one that reminded me of fashion designer sketches. There were two rough drawings of T-shirts, with writing inside. On the one labeled Front of T-Shirt, it said:
My parents spent a fortune for the Perfect Daughter,
and all I got was this great body.
Chemical Peel $741
Rhinoplasty $8,890
Breast Augmentation $4,043
Tummy Tuck $4,825
Liposuction $2,746
Octoplasty $2,168
Cellulite Massage Treatment $130
Microdermabrasion $190
Surgeons fee $4,250
Anesthesiologist $937
Facility Fee $1,080
Total cost: $30,000
On the drawing for the back of the T-Shirt, it said:
Can a person be valued in $$$$$?
I wasn’t sure whether to smile at Leah’s dark humor or sob at her lack of self-esteem. I couldn’t fit this into my memory of her striding confidently through the Halsey High halls like she owned the world. If she was so unhappy, why didn’t she do something about it? I could have loaned her a dozen self-help books with advice that could have helped solve her problems. I only wish I’d had the chance.
A glance at the bedside clock showed me that it was almost morning. Too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep. Not that I could relax into sleep with so much stuff crowding my mind. Besides, there was still half a journal left to read.
It was odd how the more I learned about Leah, the less I knew her. She wasn’t any one thing: not simply pretty, popular, cruel, kind, sad, or confused. She was so much more … and a little less, too. Would I have liked her if I’d had the chance to know her?
Probably not—but I would have been willing to try.
I found more reasons not to like her in the next few pages. Instead of a shopping list, she had a “dirty secret” list—not any of her own secrets, but those of her closest friends. Kat, Jessica, Tristan, Moniqua, Chad, and other names from school were there—even a few teachers. Across from each name, she wrote the sort of personal things friends told each other in confidence. Kat had a sister who’d run away and starred in porn movies; Tristan hired someone else to take his SAT’s; Jessica’s mother had an affair with her yoga instructor; Moniqua lost her license twice but still went out driving, and—
I did a double take as I re
ad the next entry.
When Leah had been busy at one of her father’s events, Chad had hooked up with Jessica. Jessica Bradley? Leah’s best friend!
Did Jessica know Leah knew? And what about Chad? Had Leah confronted him?
Probably not, since Leah still hung out with Jessica and dated Chad. But why did Leah put up with the betrayal? Instead, she’d tucked away all her discoveries in her journal. Leah knew enough secrets to ruin everyone at Halsey High.
Did she keep these secret to herself or use them as blackmail? Did knowing things about other people make her feel powerful? Give her a sense of control when her life was tumbling into chaos?
I was still puzzling over this when I found one last poem tucked in the back of the journal.
Beginning …
Hands moving,
Mouth open,
Eyes closed,
Mind drifting …
Thinking of …
Shopping for shoes.
Pink, black, or gold?
An Essay Due in English Lit.
Rocky road ice cream in the fridge,
Can’t decide which outfit for tomorrow.
Where C and I will go after school
Gift ideas for Jess’ b-party
Pink nail polish out.
Blue-frost polish in.
Ending …
Standing
Smiling
Lying
Crying.
Done.
Chills prickled through me. I wasn’t sure what this was about, except it left me with a bad feeling. If Leah was being forced to do something awful, why didn’t she just say no? Walk away. Leave. Ask someone for help.
Oh, Leah—what kind of hell were you going through? I closed the book with a sigh.
That was one secret I’d probably never know.
Hours later I woke abruptly—startled because I hadn’t expected to fall back asleep.
Someone was tapping at my door. The journal! I had to hide it. Shoving it under my pillow, I called out, “Who’s there?”
“Who else?” Angie said impatiently as she strode in waving a sheet of paper. “I brought your schedule. It’s almost time for your morning swim.”
Schedule?
Alarm raced through me as I realized what would be on that printed sheet after the routine things like swimming, exercise, and lunch. There would be a notation about tonight’s society reception—where I had promised to dance with Congressman Donatello.
But I couldn’t go. In my dream conversation with Grammy, she’d said I had to be close to my real body, in the hospital, at six o’clock. Not at some fancy event. Or Leah would never get her second chance, and I’d be stuck in her body forever.
“I’m not feeling well today,” I faked to Angie.
“You don’t look sick.” Angie regarded me skeptically.
I nodded, sinking into my pillow. “I ache all over,” I said with a dramatic groan. “Could you tell my father that I won’t be able to go out tonight?”
Angie frowned. “I’ll tell him—but he won’t like it.”
“I know … sorry.” I coughed for effect. “But I can’t help being sick.”
“Jessica shouldn’t have pushed you into helping her yesterday.” She switched her suspicion to concern. “You needed more time to recuperate. I’ll have Luis fix you up some hot chicken broth.”
While I waited for her to return, I watched old reruns of The Brady Bunch and Family Ties. The happy families reminded me of my real family. It would be so wonderful to go home and leave the Montgomerys forever. If the switch worked, I felt sorry for Leah having to come back here.
Thinking about this gave me an idea, so I pulled out the journal again and wrote on a blank page in the back.
Leah,
In case you forget, you need to know some things.
1. Your little brother looks up to you. Be kind to him.
2. Your mother is incredibly brave. Cheer on all her
successes.
3. Angie can be rude, but deep down she cares about you. Smile at her.
4. Luis rocks! Watch soaps with him and enjoy his cheese popcorn.
5. If you respect your friends, they will respect you. Talk honestly to Chad and Jessica.
6. Do not let your father tell you what to do with your body. It’s just wrong. You do not have to dance or do anything else with his friends.
7. Read self-help books. Contact Amber Borden for
suggestions.
I skimmed the list again, smiling as I imagined Leah reading my words and (hopefully) taking them to heart. Grammy said that Leah had already spent some “heavenly” time reflecting on her life. I hoped she’d figured stuff out and would treat her friends, family, and herself better.
As I shut the journal, another paper fell out. Not one paper, but several stapled together. The cover sheet had business letterhead from Congressman Donatello. I expected it to be a letter to Leah, but it was to Mr. Montgomery. Nothing exciting. Only a blah-blah boring “thank you for your generous donations” letter. The attached papers looked like the ledger I made in accounting class. I’d always liked how the debits and credits made tidy rows and balanced out figures. But these figures were confusing: rows of percentages, amounts and long number sequences connected by dashes.
The numbers triggered a memory, but I couldn’t place it. The oddest thing was that on the top of the second page was the name “Leah Ashland,” followed by a series of numbers. I knew from Leah’s driver’s license that her middle name was Ashland, but something about this bothered me.
There was a sound at my door.
Quickly, I tossed the papers back into the journal and hid the journal under a pillow—just as Mr. Montgomery strode into the room.
His scowl was my first clue that he wasn’t happy.
“I heard you’re sick?” he asked suspiciously.
I nodded, coughing and trying to look ill.
“Rather convenient timing, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know—” cough, “—what you—” cough, cough, “—mean.”
“Nasty cough.” He bent over the bed, studying me. “You don’t look sick to me. You look lovely … positively glowing with health.”
“But I feel awful.” I added more coughs and rolled my eyes as if I might pass out.
“Sounds serious. So serious I think we should bring in a doctor.”
Doctor? Oops … not part of my plan.
“I-I just need to—” small cough, “—rest a while. But I’m sorry about the dance. I don’t think I’ll have the energy to go.”
He reached out to touch my chin so that I had to look in his eyes. “Oh, I think you will.”
Afraid and dizzy, I stared at my white knuckles clutching the blankets. My chin throbbed where he had touched me, and when I rubbed the sore spot, my fingers came away with a sticky cream-colored smear. Makeup.
“Ohmygod!” I gasped at his hand’s shadowy aura. “You really are a—”
“A what?” He sounded amused.
“A … a Dark Lifer. You’re wearing makeup to hide your hands.”
I expected him to lie, but he merely shrugged. “So what? It’s your fault, you know. Your glow brought me here. I was enjoying the lecherous body of a security guard at the hospital when I sensed your delicious energy. I became your father to get close to you.”
“Well, get out of him!”
“Not quite yet. When I switched into this body, I tapped into your father’s memories. He’s not a very nice man—which I’m enjoying.”
“You’re not my father!”
“Who would believe you?” he asked. “I can make your life miserable if you don’t obey me. So be a good girl and let me touch your sweet glowing skin. I thought you had stopped glowing, but it’s back again … so irresistibly.”
“Stay away!” I tried to hide behind my pillow. “Don’t touch me!”
“You can’t stop your dear old dad,” he threatened. “I control you.”
I coul
dn’t get to the door without getting by him—and his cocky smile showed that he knew this. He was playing with me, like a spider spinning a web around a trapped fly. Suddenly he lunged for me. I rolled across my mattress and jumped up—but found myself in a corner. Nowhere to go.
Trembling, I clasped my arms behind my back—and with all my heart—I touched my rainbow bracelet, turning it twice, then once, whispering the lucky chant, then kissing it.
“Come kiss your dear old dad.” The Dark Lifer reached out ominously. “Come closer, sweet Leah. I’m tired of games and can’t wait to—”
But before he could finish, there were two bright flashes. Two translucent figures solidified into a man and woman in business suits. They appeared ordinary, except for the fact that their feet didn’t touch the floor and ropes of silver draped over their arms.
The Dark Disposal Team! Thank God (and grandma).
“Stay Away!” the Dark Lifer posing as Mr. Montgomery shrieked.
“We’ve been searching for you for a long time,” the woman said, smiling.
“Noooo!” The Dark Lifer threw up his hands protectively. But the two figures advanced, casting coils of silver ropes like a lasso, circling Mr. Montgomery’s body in mummy fashion until I saw nothing but silver.
There were more flashes, then the silver ropes fell away. The man and woman vanished. All that was left was Mr. Montgomery—who blinked as if waking up from a long sleep. I couldn’t say exactly why, but I knew that this was the real Mr. Montgomery.
“Leah?” he spoke uncertainly. “What were we saying?”
“Uh … how you’re okay with me staying home tonight, since I’m sick.”
“Is that so?” He stared at me coolly. “That’s not how I recall our conversation.”
I thought he’d be nicer without the Dark Lifer possessing his body, but he seemed even more intimidating.
I started to go into my story about being sick, but he cut me off.
“Save the excuses.” He waved his hand. “Here’s how this is going to play out. You may skip your exercise regime and rest in bed until evening. I will not contact DeHaven unless you continue your delusions about being sick.”
Dead Girl Walking Page 21
