He’s a tall man with white scruff covering his rich umber skin. A pair of glasses perches on the very tip of his nose. “Welcome students to Discovering Your Unfinished Business. For those of you who are new, my name is Mr. Clingler. You will spend the first half of class with me, while your peers meet with their assigned Healers.”
Most everyone moves. When they’re gone, I’m left alone with Rafe and a girl with curls and the most perfect taupe skin I’ve ever seen. All three of us glance at each other, breaking into quiet laughter. It’s not really funny so much as it’s mildly awkward being the only ones left behind. Though I guess if I have to be stuck solo with anybody, Rafe’s not a bad option.
And this other girl. Newbies got to band together.
“Now, before we get started, let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. No gimmicks or anything like that, you don’t have to tell us how you died or share who you were before, or your favorite books or activities.” Mr. Clingler smiles a little. He has a bit of an underbite that gives his face a touch more character than I’d noticed before. “Though of course if you’d like to share all of that, you’re welcome to.”
The girl with the curls waves her fingers. “I’m Yasmin Willis and I like long walks in the moonlight after a storm.” She chuckles and Rafe and I join her.
I highly approve of that sense of humor.
Rafe follows her lead. “Rafe Warren. I like to draw and pick locks. Don’t worry Mr. Clingler, I won’t try to steal any tests or anything. Though now that I think about it, that probably won’t be an issue in this class.”
With a snort, I raise my hand next. “I’m Billie Martin, and I have amnesia so...based on breakfast this morning, I like bacon. Oh, and sudoku and crossword puzzles.”
Yasmin laughs again, but it mutates into an “awww.” She frowns. “As if the afterlife alone wasn’t mystery enough. An exciting one for sure, a wild night and a new road, but without your memory? That’s a full-on tragedy.”
“It’s not great.”
“But we will help you figure it all out,” Mr. Clinger says. He hovers toward the white board at the back of the classroom. “Now, this will just be a quick overview and then you three can meet with your Healers along with the rest of the class. I’d like to start with a question. What, if anything, do you know about unfinished business?”
My mouth starts moving before I can even think. “It usually starts with priority. Whichever one is the most pressing is the one you have to deal with first. Until you’ve dealt with that, you will always be drawn back to the place you’re required to be.” I blink, shocked at my own words as Mr. Clingler nods and Rafe and Yasmin stare.
“That’s very good, Ms. Martin.” Mr. Clingler slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “Did you happen to be a witch with medium abilities when you were alive?”
“Yes.” I press a hand to my mouth. “I did. I was a medium. I remember!”
With this realization comes images of a shimmering ghost at the foot of a bed, my bed.
Her thin braids float around her small face, the pink butterfly clips on the ends of each clacking together, given an odd sort of afterlife of their own by death. She twists the bottom of her shirt between her hands.
I clutch my pillow to my chest, eyes wide. “Uh, hi. I’m…Billie.”
“Lyla. Can we talk?”
Yasmin claps, breaking through the life flash.
Rafe grins. “Nice. Another mystery solved and a step away from getting twisted.”
Mr. Clingler frowns. “Are all of you concerned about the Xers?”
I exchange a look with Rafe and Yasmin, then pinch the air with a forefinger and thumb. “Just a tiny bit. It’s a little stressful to have people out there who can turn you into giant rage beings.”
“Yeah, what’s with that by the way?” Rafe asks. “What’s their damage that they want more destructive creatures in the world? Don’t we have enough drama as it is?”
Mr. Clingler smooths a hand over the stubble on his chin. “It is, as are most things in this world, complex. To understand Xers, you must realize they believe they are doing a good thing. They believe all ghosts are trapped here against their will and that when they burn bones or attachment objects with their spells, they are releasing spirits into the life beyond. More than that, they believe they are protecting the living from hauntings. What they don’t understand is that their actions are compounding the problem.”
“So, they’re...extremists?” Yasmin asks.
“In a word, yes.” Mr. Clingler nods. “Many of them are highly intelligent, particularly their leaders, and a great majority of those in this sect have family histories of ghost encounters gone wrong. The dead are, of course, much like the living and not all are benevolent. Some with ill intent have created a great many problems for the rest of us.”
I grimace. “One person ruins it for everybody else.”
Mr. Clingler nods. “It’s understandable that you would be concerned. The threat is imminent, but Locklear takes steps to ensure your safety. The best thing you can do while you’re here is to take care of your unfinished business so you can move on peacefully. If you can do that, you should have no reason to fear.”
I grimace. Unless of course your body is missing along with your memories.
Mr. Clingler sits on the edge of one of the desks. “In the same way, discovering your unfinished business can be complex. Often, you’ll be trapped in the location of the most pressing issue, as you were Rafe.”
Rafe stiffens up and his eyes drop. He slips something out of his pocket. A bike lock. He spins the dial back and forth with a thumb, muttering something, probably the combination. Maybe it’s his own way of dealing with thought spirals, or anxiety, or guilt.
“But if there are complications,” Mr. Clingler continues, “then Ghost Guides and Healers can assist in the process. That’s one of the goals of this class.”
“Complications like, having no memory of your life before death?” I lift my brows.
“Yes. And don’t worry, the Healers should be able to help you recover that as well. Or at the very least, help remove damage that is blocking your ability to reach it.”
“Why,” Rafe’s voice cracks and the lock clicks again, “why would one piece of unfinished business drag you to that specific location, but another one...not?”
Again, Mr. Clingler strokes his chin and sighs. “Unfinished business can be a tricky thing. The timing is often finicky. It-”
“Finicky?” Rafe swears under his breath. “But what if a person’s life is in danger? How could the timing be finicky,” he makes air quotes around that word, “on something like that?”
That pain from before floods his eyes. He clenches the lock until the tendons stand out on his knuckles. Part of me wants to run out of the room, to back away from the torment buckling the air around him. I even scoot to the edge of my chair without fully realizing it.
Instead of running, I cling to the desk, and dig my voice out of somewhere deep in my chest. “Maybe that means that whoever’s in danger is safe at the moment.”
Rafe pulls in a slow breath, lets it out, then drags a weak smile onto his face. “Yeah, yeah maybe you’re right. I really hope you’re right.” In spite of his best efforts to look okay, there’s not much energy in his voice.
“Your friend has a point,” Mr. Clingler says. “If you haven’t been pulled toward this person, then it’s doubtful they’re in imminent danger. Either that, or they’re not your unfinished business at all. Which brings me to divining what that business is if you’re not drawn toward it.”
Rafe shoves a hand through his hair, then rests his chin on a palm. He looks deflated. Defeated. Worry clearly buzzes just beneath the surface of the calm expression that’s now settled onto his face. It’s so intense I can almost feel it mingling with my own stress. I focus my attention back to Mr. Clingler. I’ve got my own business to figure out.
Hopefully with it will come the rest of my memories, and I wo
n’t be stuck for an eternity with no identity. Untethered to anyone or anything, always at risk of losing what little I have left.
When I finally sit across from my Healer, I’m torn between excitement and terror. As I cross my legs, I notice for the first time the silence where my heartbeat should be. I press a palm to my chest. My head spins at the stillness and I have to fight to keep my breathing even.
“It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?” Ms. Alvarez — a middle aged woman with short brown hair and a chin dimple — asks.
“Majorly. Almost as terrifying as being dead but not remembering why.”
Ms. Alvarez smiles. It’s the understanding kind, but she manages to pull it off without looking pitying. “That is also quite jarring. It’s possible I can help you, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. Often it just takes time for memories to come back.”
Great. More patience and waiting. No big deal, unless of course you’re not sure where you left your physical body and it could get destroyed at any moment by extremists. But sure, I’ll be patient.
I play with one of my shoelaces. “Thanks for being honest. I mean, it sucks, but that’s better than false hope.”
“I find false hope slows the process.” Ms. Alvaraz’s smile widens. “Lie down for me? It’s easier if you’re as relaxed as possible.”
“Couldn’t hurt.” I shrug and ease onto my stomach.
The mat is actually pretty comfortable. I’ll have to concentrate if I don’t want to fall asleep, unless that makes things easier on Ms. Alvarez. Out of the side of my eye, I search for Rafe. He’s in a corner on the other end of the room. Absolute torment warps his face as he rests his forehead on one of his hands. His Healer strokes his back, whispering something, eyes closed. Presumably reading his aura.
My quiet chest aches for him. Whoever he believes is his unfinished business must be close to him, and in possible danger. Like me, though, he’s obviously missing vital information to help them. Hopefully, the Healers can help both of us.
“Ms. Martin, I know you’re worried about your friend, but I’m going to need you to relax so I can get a good read.”
I wince and shut my eyes. “Right. Sorry. I am relaxing.”
Ms. Alvarez places her hand on the small of my back. Like every touch now that I’m a ghost, it spreads cool waves through my entire body, or spirit, I guess. My brain again tries to send me back into a thought spiral about where my actual body is, but I rein it in.
As I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, Ms. Alvarez murmurs, “Better. Much better.”
“Have you ever worked on a ghost who lost their memory?” I ask.
“I’ll answer all of your questions after I’m done with your reading, Ms. Martin,” she says in a soothing voice. “But to settle your mind, yes, I have.”
When she doesn’t expound, I have to restrain a second thought spiral. It’s great that she’s worked with someone else with amnesia, but was she successful? Did they ever get back their memories? Or was this other ghost Haya’s roommate? I’m starting to think more and more that Erin somehow got twisted, and the reason no one is telling me what happened is because they don’t want to scare me.
But their silence is worse.
Kind of like how not seeing the monster in a movie is scarier than if it’s constantly on screen. My imagination takes off with various horrific scenarios, all probably much more terrifying than the reality. Truth pulls the fake monster mask off to reveal the much less terrifying reality underneath. Right now, I really need this to happen.
“Ms. Martin, I want you to take some slow breaths and focus on a calming sentence. Anxiety is completely clouding your aura.”
“Sorry...uh, got a suggestion for that calming sentence?”
“Keep it simple. Something like, ‘I’m okay, I’m safe.’”
I shimmy a little to get more comfortable, and try this phrase, repeating the first part when I breathe in, and the second part when I breathe out. It does help a bit. After a few minutes, I’m even having to fight off sleep again. Thankfully, Ms. Alvarez taps my shoulder before I start snoring, and asks me to sit up.
“What’s the verdict?”
Ms. Alvarez doesn’t exactly frown, but her jaw tightens and something flickers behind her eyes that doesn’t look at all promising. “I’ll need a few more sessions before I can give you the full diagnosis. By the end of the week I should know more. In the meantime, pay attention to any life flashes that come your way. They can be frightening, but try to lean into them, focus on anything that might root you to your past. We’ll figure all of this out, you have no reason to worry.”
Chapter Six
The first day is exhausting. After Discovering Unfinished Business with Rafe, Interacting with the Living with Haya, then Science of the Afterlife alone, I need a moment to clear my head. School is so much different at Locklear. Though I don’t remember the finer points of my education while I was alive, I know the consequences of failing a Biology test were nowhere near as intense as bombing a class here.
It’s pass or don’t pass on. Comforting thought.
Also, death makes thinking difficult. My thoughts keep trying to take off in all directions like a flock of birds in a field. The second one lands, it flaps off almost immediately and it’s hard to get back.
Or maybe I’m just a little ADD in general.
I pause on my trudge back to the dorms and attempt to sit on a big rock in between buildings. When I don’t slip through, I cross my legs and blow out a sigh. Red sunshine fans out between the bare branches of the trees. It creates a pattern on the grass a little like stained glass. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to catch a memory I feel tickling my brain.
Sitting in an old church...the smell of candles...a hardwood bench grating my spine...organ music…
Fingers pressed to my temples, I try to ground my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. The memory slips away and I let out a growl. Why can’t I nail them down? Ms. Alvarez said it might take time, but not to worry. Not to worry seems to be the party line around here.
Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, right?
I push out a sigh and lean back on my palms to watch the stars take over the sky. As they chase away the final rays of sunshine, the temperatures steadily drop. Everything in me slows. Almost like the opposite of an adrenaline rush. Whereas when I had a body, the cold might have stung, numb, removed feeling, it now swirls through me in a cool wave.
A little like the way mint spreads through your mouth.
Antsy and a bit uncomfortable, I hop up and shuffle further into the woods, kicking leaves as I go. Or at least I try kicking leaves. They barely stir when I swing the tips of my boots at them. Guess I’ll learn how to do that better in Corporeal Contact tomorrow.
Wind knocks the tree branches together overhead. It’s an oddly soothing sound, another weird aspect of Locklear. Apart from the threat of becoming a polter-ghost, there is still very little spook about this place at all. I feel like this really should surprise me. Ghosty things are, after all, known for being scary. But somehow, it feels right.
Maybe it’s because things aren’t spooky to those who are already spooky?
I chuckle and try kicking the leaves again. The tip of my shoe actually catches one, sending it cartwheeling away. I do a little happy dance, complete with ill-timed hip shimmies and weird arm movements. Progress. The faster I figure out how to interact with the world of the living, the quicker I’ll be able to discover my unfinished business. Though I definitely need to dig up my missing memories first.
Still in happy dance mode, I take a few large prancing leaps down the path, breaking through the tree line and into a field. Now a heavy dose of spookiness hits me. Hundreds of tombstones line the wide space. Moonlight spills over them, casting warped shadows along the raised dirt. It’s ridiculous to fear the bodies below, but I still back pedal a little, unable to pull in a deep breath.
What is it about this that scares me? Where does our fear of dead bodies come fr
om? Reanimation, maybe? An unnatural craving for brains? My imagination kicks into overdrive. If I found my remains, could I inhabit them again? Or am I irrevocably separated from my body?
I shiver at the thought.
Time to go. No reason to hang out in a graveyard contemplating existential questions. Don’t want to be too much of a cliché, right? The thought drives some of the creepiness away, and I smile a little as I spin back to the path leading to the school. My hand smacks into a hard chest and I look up to see the last person I want to accidentally hit.
Landon. Great.
Obviously, I’d poked the bear yet again. One of his temples twitches and he crosses his arms.
I cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“What are you doing?” He squeezes the words out between clenched teeth.
“Oh, you know.” I wave a hand. “It’s the harvest moon, so I’m out to find some squirrels for sacrifice.”
Landon’s glower darkens.
I snort. “I’m joking. Just out for a walk. I only sacrifice squirrels during the new moon.”
One of Landon’s brows lifts, but I swear I see him fighting a smile. “For a ghost with amnesia, you’re taking all of this really lightly.”
“I like to deflect with humor.” I stroke my chin. “It’s better than shuffling around the afterlife under a gloomy little cloud.”
Any laughter there that might have lit up his face dies out. “This isn’t some joke to laugh about.”
Irritation rubs my nerves raw. Unfortunately, because Landon is taking the serious route, every ounce of immature rebel in me wants to continue egging him on. Excessive and inappropriate outrage does that to me apparently. I open my mouth to make another joke, but before I can get a word out, a familiar wail claws through the air and I flinch.
It’s the same combination of pain twisted with sorrow as before. Loud, deep, and weirdly distorted, it definitely qualifies as spooky. Landon lets out a strangled little gasp and I glance at him. His wide eyes sweep the trees above us. I follow his gaze to the thick shadow spinning between their branches.
Ghost Academy: Book One Page 4
