The Ghost Runner

by Blair Richmond

  She spins around. “What?”

  “Didn’t that look go out in the eighties?” I say. “I didn’t think there were any of you left.”

  She steps close again, and I’m about to turn around and put my Brooks shoes to good use—and then she bursts out laughing. She reaches out and punches my shoulder in what I think is supposed to be a chummy way, but it nearly knocks me off my feet.

  “You’re funny,” she says. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Kat.”

  “I’m Lucy,” she says. “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.”

  I nod. “This is my first class. I’m not full-time yet.”

  “Lucky you. Less homework.”

  “Well, I do have a job outside of here.”

  “Where at?”

  “Lithia Runners.”

  “Up on Main Street, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ve often thought about going in there.”

  “I can get you a discount,” I say.

  “Not to shop. No way. I just thought there’d be a lot of hot, buff guys in there.”

  I smile. “Well, what if one of these buff guys wants to go running with you?”

  “Me? I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “Exercise and I do not mix. Not a good look for me, running shoes and tank tops. I’m good at running my mouth, but that’s about it.”

  We walk out of the building and toward the quad. “Maybe we could work on that paper together,” I suggest. “Just talk about ideas and stuff like that.”

  “Yeah, why not. Misery loves company.” She looks at me. “What are you doing now? Do you have to go to work or run a marathon or something?”

  “No. I’ve got the afternoon off. To study.”

  “Good. If we’ve got to do this paper, let’s at least go get a mocha. With lots of whipped cream.”

  “As long as they have soy milk.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Health freak,” she accuses.

  “Sloth,” I say back.

  And she bursts out laughing all over again

  ~

  Lucy and I sit at a table in an outdoor courtyard near the café, and I begin to feel almost as if I fit in as the other students pass by, carrying travel mugs and backpacks and staring at cell phones.

  Lucy tells me she’s a drama major. She’s here for the summer because the drama department puts on a play every August. “That’s the only reason I’m taking summer classes,” she says. “With less students around, the odds of me getting a part go up and, best of all, I hear the director of the Lithia Theater even attends. I’m hoping he’ll notice me.”

  “Where are you from?” I ask.

  “LA,” she says. “You’d figure I’d go to school there, right? But my folks are purists. They want me to actually learn how to act before I return to LA. I keep telling them that most people in that town can’t act to save their lives, and they do just fine.”

  “So how did you end up in environmental studies?”

  “I’m not sure,” she says. “We’re required to take two science classes, and I figured this would get that requirement out of the way without me actually having to mess with beakers or numbers.”

  “What do you think of our teacher?”

  She laughs. “You think I’m stuck in the eighties—but what’s up with him? His hair looks like he’s been growing it since the sixties.”

  “I’ll bet that hair has some stories to tell.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t judge,” Lucy says. “So why’re you in that class?”

  “I’m interested in the environment,” I say. “Someday I’d like to have some sort of job that can help. I’m just not sure what that is yet.”

  “You’ll figure it out. That’s cool, that you have such noble aspirations. Me, I’m just hoping ol’ man Lindy doesn’t give us too much homework. I’ve got a play coming up. I haven’t actually made the cut just yet, but I’m an optimist. Auditions are next week.”

  “What’s the play?”

  “They won’t tell us. We just go up there and read whatever they give us and hope we make it. It’s open to the campus. You should try out.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. Lucy is looking over my shoulder. “What?” I ask.

  “There’s someone watching you,” she says. “No—don’t turn around, or he’ll know you’re onto him.”

  “What if I want him to know I’m onto him?” I turn around and look.

  “He just went behind a building,” Lucy says.

  “What did he look like?”

  “I didn’t get a good look. He looked older.”

  Immediately my mind turns to Roman. “Maybe he was looking at you, not me,” I say.

  “Yeah, right. That’ll be the day. The only way I can get men to look at me is when I’m onstage. Speaking of which, you should audition with me.”

  “Why? I’m not an actor.”

  “Why not? Everyone’s a little bit of an actor. Besides, I hate waiting in those tryout lines all alone. Stresses me out.”

  I look back over at the buildings, scanning the crowds, and then I see Roman, passing between two buildings.

  “Be right back,” I say, then I take off after him. I rush through the students, but already Roman is gone, behind a building, or maybe inside.

  I turn the corner, and all of a sudden, I’m face-to-face with him—only it’s not Roman. Just a tall, dark-haired student dressed in black.

  I’ve got to stop doing this, I tell myself. Yet a part of me is relieved, and I’m about to head back to Lucy when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around slowly.

  Standing in front of me is my father. The man I thought had died nearly a year ago. The man I thought I might have killed.

  My father. And he’s smiling at me, knowingly.

  “Why, Katie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says.

  I feel as though I have.

  Four

  We are running, Alex and I, heading for the deep forest high above Lithia. I haven’t seen him in a while—he’s been busy, juggling work at the co-op and organizing a protest in the community. It’s a project close to his heart; he’s trying to stop a developer from taking ownership of the one last parcel of land—owned by someone named Horton, who died—that’s necessary to move forward with a gigantic housing development. Between my job and Alex’s, between school and the Stop Ed Jacobs campaign, the only time Alex and I usually have to spend together is when we go running.

  We are heading for the Lost Mine Trail, which is now a constant reminder of Ed Jacobs and his devastating work. Right before the entrance to the trail are acres of steep, forested land that, over the past six months, have been shaved clean of trees and graded with huge yellow machines. Now there are concrete trucks and piles of lumber, even a few wooden frames ready to be raised for the homes that will take over where forest used to be. Where bears and deer and gray foxes used to roam. Of course, the animals will still be here—but they will no longer be welcome, and they don’t know it yet.

  This was a trail I loved when I first moved to Lithia, but I soon abandoned it. Now, coming back is more difficult than ever, and not only because of the construction. This was the trail Stacey died on, and I was there, a few hundreds yards away—too far away to help, but not far away enough to avoid hearing her scream.

  I don’t know how I will ever forgive Roman for taking her life. Stacey died less than ten months ago, and yet it feels like years, decades even. I still miss her, especially now, as I see the familiar overlook where we used to pause and look down on Lithia. I know David misses her, too, though he is doing his best to move on, trying to convince me to do the same. But he doesn’t carry the same guilt that I do—he wasn’t here when she died, and he wasn’t falling in love with her killer.

  I wonder if his sadness will ever fully lift. When I’m at Lithia Runners, sometimes I still catch him staring blankly at the shoe wall. But then, sometimes I also catch myself staring into nothingness. We do our
best to pull each other back to reality.

  After all, life goes on. That’s what he told me, and that’s why I’m on this trail. I’m moving on. I’m doing what Stacey would have wanted me to do. I keep running.

  Yet today I find myself falling behind, slipping off the pace that Alex has set. Every so often I notice him glancing back, a nice way of letting me know I’m dragging my heels, and I accelerate to catch back up. But minutes later he’s pulling away again. This time, I let him go. Running just doesn’t feel all that important right now.

  I round a bend and find Alex waiting for me with a curious look on his face.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  I’m not ready to tell Alex what happened yesterday: that my dad is in town, that he wants to see me again. I need more time to process the fact that my father has come back from the dead—at least, this is how it feels.

  As I was trying to get over the initial shock of seeing him, my father offered to buy me a smoothie. I was amazed that he remembered my fondness for smoothies, but I told him I was busy. So he suggested dinner. When I didn’t respond, he handed me a slip of paper with a phone number on it, asking me to call him.

  I know I should be grateful that he’s alive—but I’m also scared. He’s never been a good person, and I don’t know what he’s doing here. He seemed different—he was a lot nicer to me than he’d ever been—but, on the other hand, there was something in his eyes that told me I can’t trust him. Not yet.

  “I’m just a little tired,” I tell Alex. “Why don’t you go on without me? I could use some time to walk and to chill out a bit.”

  Alex glances around at the trees surrounding us. “I don’t want to leave you all alone.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Alex studies my face, and I see a shadow come over his. “Is this about Roman?”

  “Roman? What makes you say that?”

  “You miss him.”

  “I wonder about him, that’s all. Why he left so suddenly. It’s nothing more than that. I’m with you now.” I reach over and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I just have a lot on my mind. School and stuff. I’ll see you back in town.”

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he says.

  “Why not? These trails are safe now. Roman’s gone. Victor’s gone. There are no vampires left—except for you, right?”

  “Right.” I can tell he hates it when I remind him that he’s a vampire, as if it’s all some bad memory he’s been trying to keep in the past. He may be vegan now, free from the blood of other living things, human or otherwise, but there had been many years of violence in his past. And I can see that it weighs on him. We all make mistakes. We all do things we can’t take back. The way I can’t take back the moment I turned my father’s gun on him, the moment it went off. And right now I need to be alone—to prepare myself for the consequences, whatever they may be. While I have no intention of calling my dad, I know he’s not just going to disappear again.

  “It’s not just vampires I worry about, Kat,” he says.

  “Then what?”

  “Bears,” he says, though not very convincingly.

  “Right, bears. Compared to a vampire, I’m not all that worried. Go on, Alex, leave me alone for a while. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. And maybe later I can help you with the protest signs. I even met someone at school who might want to help. She’s in my environmental class.”

  Alex brightens. “Thanks, Kat. We need all the help we can get.” Alex leans over to hug me but then realizes he’s covered in sweat. So he gives me a salty kiss, which I would enjoy much more if I weren’t so worried about everything else.

  I watch Alex head back down the trail, until he’s out of sight. I know I should head down after him, but instead I just stand there, listening to the sounds of birds bickering and leaves catching hold of the occasional slow breeze. There is a dryness to the air, the smell of dead pine needles, of kindling.

  It hasn’t rained in three months. And, worse, not enough snow fell in the mountains over the winter, which means less water is making its way down Lithia Creek, the town’s main source of water. Sometimes I can hear the creek from this trail—usually it roars over the rocks below, but today it barely whispers. Its silence is unsettling.

  David told me that five years ago, right after he moved to Lithia, he looked up and saw flames on the hills right above town. Fortunately, the winds died down before the flames threatened homes—but if they’d picked up from the west, the fire would’ve raced right down into town. It’s part of the price people in Lithia pay to live here, David said: a little anxiety in the dry years.

  Anxiety: Why did I think I’d ever be free of it? I begin to walk down the trail, thinking back to that moment on campus with my dad. I remember looking around at the students passing by, looking for police hiding behind trees, waiting to arrest me. But all around me, life was normal. For all anyone knew, I was just another student meeting her father for lunch on campus. If only they really knew what was happening: a daughter coming face-to-face with the man she thought she had killed.

  But my father didn’t say anything about that. And that’s one reason I’m afraid to meet him. He said, I want to talk, and I could not say, About what? I didn’t want to hear the answer.

  I’d fled back to where I’d left Lucy, yet I couldn’t concentrate on the paper we were working on; I kept looking around, worried he’d followed me. What’s the matter? she kept asking, and I finally told her that I didn’t feel well and had to go home. I regretted it later: There she was, my first school friend, and now she thinks I’m crazy.

  All of a sudden, footsteps on the path behind me bring me back to the present moment. I glance behind me but don’t see anyone yet. This isn’t unusual—every sound echoes here, bouncing off the mountains surrounding us. But the footsteps are coming quickly, so I stop where I am and keep my eyes trained on the trail behind me, expecting a jogger to appear any moment. The footsteps grow louder and closer, and I can hear breathing, but all I see is a wisp of fog in the air—almost like a cloud drifting toward me, and quickly.

  Then it sounds as if the footsteps are about to run me over, and that cloud is still moving, running, taking shape: the smoky outline of a runner.

  And it’s headed straight for me.

  I try to move out of the way, but I’m too late. A burst of wind sends me off the trail, onto the ground. By the time I look up, the cloud has rounded the bend, the footsteps fading.

  I get to my feet and brush the gravel and dirt off my arms. I’m not hurt. Just a few scratches. The wind that pushed me aside was firm but gentle, like the touch of someone’s hand as she rushes by you in a hurry.

  I don’t know why I assume it’s a she.

  And I don’t know why I’m calmly accepting the fact that I have apparently just seen a ghost.

  Of course, it’s hot today, and I’m drained from my run with Alex. Maybe it’s heat exhaustion, my eyes playing tricks on me.

  Then again, now I know all too well that in these hills, anything’s possible.

  I begin jogging downhill, back to town. I’m a little rattled, but not exactly afraid. Maybe it’s because there was something familiar about that entity, something I can’t quite place. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t hurt me.

  But I’ve been wrong about these things before. And just thinking about that makes me pick up my pace until I’m back to civilization.

  Five

  By the time I get to town, I’m late for work. I rush into the shower, then throw on clean running clothes and dash to the store. That’s the nice thing about working at a running store—at least I’m always dressed for running.

  David is nice about my being late—a little too nice, actually. Not that he’s ever mean, but he usually does keep me honest rather than forgive all the things I do wrong.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.


  “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’re being far too cool about my being twenty minutes late. Is something wrong?”

  He sighs. “No, Kat, nothing’s wrong. But there is something I need to talk to you about.”

  “What is it?” He’s making me nervous.

  “I’m thinking about hiring someone else part-time. To help me out because you’re so busy with school.”

  “You’re firing me?” I can’t believe it.

  “No, no,” he says quickly. “Of course not. I just wanted to give you a few more hours a week to study, that’s all. But at the same time, I can’t do the work of two people myself.”

  “I don’t need any more time off,” I tell him. “I can keep up. I promise.”

  He shakes his head. “I know you think you can, but I don’t want you to stretch yourself too thin. You’ve got to focus on school. That’s more important than selling shoes right now.” He reaches for my hand. “I’m not replacing you, Kat. You’ll always have a job here, as long as you want it. But I see that you’re stressed, and I want to help.”

  I haven’t told David about my father being in town, and I’m tempted to tell him now, so he’ll know that it’s not school, that I can continue to do my job. But as I’m trying to figure out what to say, he gives my hand a pat and turns away to pick up something from behind the counter.

  “I know you, Kat,” he says. “You won’t slow down until someone forces you to, and that’s why I’m doing this. To save you from yourself.” He smiles. “I haven’t even posted an ad yet, so don’t worry. You’ll still have plenty of time to work yourself to the bone.” Then he hands me an envelope. “This arrived today.”

  I take it, trying not to show my surprise. It looks like another letter from Roman—the same thick paper, with my name in fine lettering.

  “More tickets?” David asks.

  “Probably,” I say, then hurry off to unpack some new shoes. As soon as David gets busy with something else, I open the envelope.

  There are no tickets, just a note: