The Ghost Runner

by Blair Richmond

  Dad asks us about our day at the store, then starts in on one of his favorite topics: telling us all about Lithia back when he used to live here. How the theater only had two stages then. How people used to drink lots of that mineral-rich water.

  “Now it’s just something tourists spit out,” he says. “Back then, we’d fill up glass bottles and take them home. Some people bathed in it.”

  “I’m not too late, am I?”

  I recognize the voice and look up. Alex is standing next to the table.

  “Of course not,” my dad says. “As a matter of fact, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to use the restroom.”

  “You know, come to think of it, I need to make a quick phone call,” David says. “Be right back.”

  I sigh loudly as the two of them leave Alex and me alone. “That was subtle,” I say. Then I look at Alex. “So are you here because you got my message or because my dad invited you?”

  “Both.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t worry, Kat. When he called me, I apologized for giving him attitude. It’s all going to be cool from now on. I’ve realized he’s not the problem here. I need to focus on Ed Jacobs. I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  It really is hard to be mad at Alex—he’s so cute when he wears a guilty look. And then he gives me that contagious smile of his. “Well, if you’re staying, sit down already,” I say.

  He sits next to me, and I feel his hand take mine. I give it a squeeze. All is forgiven.

  It turns out to be a pleasant evening. Dad doesn’t make a single crack about being surrounded by vegans. He and David talk about the economy and gossip about old-timers in town, and Alex and I thread our fingers together and whisper about things we might do over the weekend, both inside and outside of his apartment. It feels so good to be with him again, to be happy, to be making plans.

  Then Dad breaks into our conversation. “I almost forgot,” he says. “I brought you something.”

  He reaches into his jacket, removes a photo, and hands it to me. It’s a picture of me as a child with both my dad and my mom. We’re in the woods, near a river. We are all smiling, even my dad. “I balanced the camera on this big boulder to get that shot. Almost lost it down the other side of the mountain when I went to grab it back. I wasn’t sure you ever saw this one.”

  “No, never,” I say.

  Alex leans over, and I try to hide the photo from him. “No, it’s too dorky.”

  He grins. “That’s exactly why I want to see it.”

  “You really want to see what I looked like back then? It could change everything.”

  “Absolutely.”

  So I hand it over—and when looks at it, his mouth freezes in a tight, straight line.

  “Come on, I was only kidding. It isn’t that bad.” Then I notice how pale he is. “Alex? What’s wrong?”

  He doesn’t answer. It’s as if the photo has hypnotized him, sent him into some strange form of shock.

  “Alex?” I ask again. He hands the photo back as if in slow motion but doesn’t look at me, his eyes staring off into nowhere.

  I give a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the moment. “Is it my lazy eye? Look at me—see, it’s totally gone now.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Alex says.

  “What? Now?”

  “There’s something I forgot to do.”

  “I’m sure it can wait another hour,” my dad says.

  “No,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  “But—” I try to protest, but he’s already halfway out the restaurant.

  “Was it something we said?” asks my dad.

  “I don’t know what it was.” I just don’t know.

  Eleven

  All during class Lucy has been giving me strange looks along with that wicked smile of hers, as if she knows something I don’t. And there’s another quiz today, so I have to focus on the questions in front of me and not on the questions in my head. Fortunately, I’ve done just enough studying to feel comfortable with the quiz. I know the difference between La Niña and El Niño. I know what a wildlife forensics lab does and how these labs contribute to arresting criminals who kill endangered species. And I know I’ve answered correctly when asked who spearheaded Gaia (James Lovelock) and when (in the 1960s).

  After I turn in my quiz, I wait outside in the hall. Lucy is still inside, and I’m not letting her escape without telling me what’s up.

  “Nice of you to wait for me,” she says when she finally emerges from the room.

  “Okay, out with it,” I say.

  “Out with what?”

  “Whatever it is you’ve been smirking about.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking. What’s going on?”

  “Follow me.”

  I follow her to the auditorium, and then I remember. The play. I almost forgot that the director would be posting the cast list soon—and now I feel a little anxious, actually half-hoping I got a role. As much as I’d been dreading the audition, when I was up there on the stage, I found myself enjoying it. The feeling of being someone else. Of letting my own problems disappear. And I actually felt as though I did disappear into the character of Isabella—I hardly remember anything about the audition; it was over so quickly. Afterward, I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind, so I wouldn’t have to feel bad about not making the cut.

  But Lucy’s clearly excited about something, so she must’ve gotten a role. A moment later, we’re standing next to the door, the cast list right in front of us.

  “Look,” she says, pointing to the sheet of paper. I search for Lucy’s name and find it next to Mistress Overdone.

  “Congrats!” I say. “Exactly what you wanted. That’s great.”

  She gives me an odd look.

  “What?” I ask. “Aren’t you happy?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Look again,” she says, and I do. That’s when I see my name, next to Isabella.

  “It must be a mistake,” I say.

  “It’s not. You did it. You’re now a thespian.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “You’re not happy? You’re crazy, girl. You should be thrilled. You’re the lead! We’re going to be acting together!”

  “You could have told me this in class, you know.”

  “Sure.” She shrugs. “But this was more fun.”

  I shake my head, looking away from her to see an incredibly hot guy approaching us—he’s staring right at me and looks so much like Roman that he sends my heart into a cartwheel.

  “Congratulations,” he says.

  I look at Lucy, then back at him. For some reason, he’s talking to me. “Thanks.”

  “This is Tyler,” Lucy says. “He’s a fellow drama major and all-around pretty boy. Congrats back at ya, Angelo,” she says to him, then turns to me. “You know what that means, don’t you, Kit-Kat?”

  Other than the few pages I read during my audition, I’ve never read Measure for Measure. “Not exactly.”

  “Angelo here has the hots for you. For Isabella, that is. Big time. He’ll be trying to get you to give it up to save your dear brother’s life.”

  “Interesting,” I say.

  “Is this your first play?” Tyler asks, tilting his head.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  He smiles. “I didn’t mean it that way. Not at all. I just haven’t seen you around the theater before.”

  I find it hard to take my eyes off him—and I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s got the same dark good looks as Roman or whether it’s because his eyes, such a deep brown they’re nearly black, seem to be gazing so intently into mine. But I realize after a moment that while Tyler might look a lot like Roman, he’s definitely nothing like him. Roman is intense to a fault, but Tyler has a lighter, more relaxed air about him. And just being around him has a relaxing effect on me, too.

  “I haven’t been around the theater before,” I explain. “I’m new here, just part-time.”


  “Well, you must have impressed Nathan Prince with your audition. It’s rare for an outsider to get a lead.”

  “Outsider?”

  “Someone who isn’t a drama major,” Lucy translates. I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of translating in the weeks ahead. “Don’t let him scare you, Kat. Not all drama majors can act. Most just get by on their good looks.” She casts a sly look at Tyler.

  “They sure do,” he says to Lucy, returning her appraising look.

  I’m enjoying this little bit of off-stage theater, though I find myself a little envious of Lucy, of her smooth way with Tyler. They flirt with each other so easily, while I just stand here feeling awkward. It occurs to me that the only guys I’ve been out with in town are vampires, and that perhaps this isn’t a good thing. Not to mention that I haven’t heard from Alex since he left the restaurant the other night. Maybe I should consider a human boyfriend for a change.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” says Lucy, turning to me. She hands me a paperback playbook of Measure for Measure. “I picked this up for you at the bookstore. For the next twelve weeks, this is our bible. We can rehearse together.”

  I open it and skim through the pages. I feel my heart slow nearly to a stop as I notice all the huge chunks of text with the name Isabella next to them. “I actually have to memorize all this?”

  “Aye, thou should’st.”

  “What?”

  “I’m speaking in Shakespeare. You will be, too, before long.”

  Lucy is having fun, but I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. She’s experienced at memorizing lines, but there’s no way I’ll be able to get up to speed.

  “How much time do we have to memorize our lines?” I ask.

  “A few weeks.”

  “There’s no way.”

  “Don’t worry. They sink in fast.”

  “But I’ve got work and homework, and I don’t even understand what these words mean.”

  “You learn them by speaking them,” Tyler says. “I can help if you want. I’m a great lines coach. We could meet for coffee some night and start working on our scenes.”

  “Sure,” I say, then wish I hadn’t. Should I be meeting good-looking non-vampires to rehearse love scenes when things are so touchy with Alex? Then again, Alex is the one who walked out on me the other night. So why shouldn’t I live my life? Especially when I really do need some coaching.

  “When should we get together?” Tyler asks.

  “Um. I’ve got a busy work schedule, but—I don’t know, I have to check.” I grab a notebook and scribble out my e-mail address and phone number.

  “I’ll call you,” he says. Then says his good-byes and saunters away.

  I catch Lucy’s gaze, and she’s got an evil grin on her face.

  “What?” I demand. “It’s just rehearsing, that’s all.”

  “Right,” she says. “I notice that you didn’t pounce like that when I offered to rehearse with you.”

  “It’s not—” I stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex coming toward us, with three leashed dogs in tow. The sight of him in his organic clothes, red-faced from the heat, the shelter dogs leaping around his feet, makes me forget his weird behavior at the restaurant, and makes me regret having sort of made a date with Tyler. All I see now is the Alex I love—the one who volunteers twice a week walking dogs at the shelter, the one who’s fighting to save our forests.

  I close the distance between us. “Guess what?” I stop in front of him, bending down to scratch one of the dogs behind the ears, then straightening and bouncing lightly on the toes of my feet. I’m eager to share my news with him, but his face doesn’t offer any reaction. In fact, he doesn’t look at all glad to see me; his mouth is set, his eyes reddened and tired.

  “I have to tell you something,” he says.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He starts to speak, then hesitates.

  “What, Alex?”

  He glances around. “Can we go somewhere less public first?”

  “Sure.”

  I glance at Lucy and shrug, and she shrugs back. Alex and I wander away from the central quad toward a parking lot between two buildings. He says nothing, and he doesn’t reach out for my hand, a habit we’ve developed over the past few months. Then again, his hands are full with the dogs. The shelter is only a few blocks away, and the campus is on the way to the dog park.

  The parking lot is empty, and finally I grab his arm, forcing him to stop. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I never wanted to hurt you. Please understand that.”

  “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “It’s that picture.”

  “What picture?”

  “The picture your dad brought. Of you and your mom.”

  That must explain Alex’s weird reaction. “What about it?”

  “I recognized your mom.”

  “From where?”

  “From here, from Lithia. I wasn’t always vegan, remember? I was once like Roman.”

  “I don’t under—” Then I see it in his eyes. Nothing more needs to be said. He was the one: He killed my mom. Alex, not Roman, took my mom from me.

  I can’t move. I can’t cry. I can’t do anything right now but stare at him, letting the knowledge sink in. Alex stretches his hands out in front of him, as if he’s preparing to catch me if I faint. But I’m not about to faint. The anger bubbling up inside keeps me strong on my feet.

  “I blamed Roman for that,” I tell him.

  “I know. And I never knew differently until I saw that photo, Kat. How could I have known? If it’s any comfort to you, she was the last. After her, I—I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  I remember Alex’s confession to me, months ago, high up in the redwood forest, when we were nestled into the tallest tree on earth. He’d told me about how he’d been a regular vampire, how he’d nearly killed himself trying to stop, and how he’d discovered that he could live symbiotically off the trees.

  I’d admired his story then, his willingness to change his ways, to embrace a whole new life.

  But that was then. This is now.

  “Why on earth do you think that’s supposed to comfort me?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  I stare at him with furious eyes. “You were one victim too late.”

  “How can I make it up to you? Just tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  “You can’t. You’ll never make it up to me. The only thing you can do is leave me alone. I don’t want to see you.”

  Tears blur my vision as I watch him walk away, his shoulders hunched. I know he didn’t mean to do it—that he couldn’t help what he used to be—but I can’t bring myself to call him back, to forgive.

  The rescue dogs, oblivious to what has just happened, leap and prance around his feet, happy for their few short moments of freedom.

  Part Two:

  Suspension of Disbelief

  Twelve

  The theater director, Nathan Prince, paces in front of us. Though he’s dressed casually, in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and he insists that everyone call him Nate, he wears a serious and slightly intimidating expression. Maybe it’s just that I’m nervous, but his eyes have a way of making me squirm. He’s a drama professor at the college, and Lucy says he even takes small roles at the Lithia Theater Company on occasion. He clearly has a flair for the dramatic—like the way he is using silence right now to get our attention, just staring at us until we collectively begin to quiet down and, one by one, stare back at him. Even though he is standing in the audience and we are seated onstage, right now he is the main attraction.

  Now that Alex is out of the picture, I’ve been spending my evenings alone, reading my lines aloud, trying to memorize them. It’s certainly been easy to imagine myself in the role of a nun. I’m actually considering it as a new way of life—after all, guys have brought me nothing but trouble, especially since I arrived in Lithia. Maybe I’m meant to be alone. It’s the way I’ve been most of my life
, since my mom died, and I’m certainly used to it.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Nate’s voice, bringing me back to where I am, on the stage, awaiting introductions from all the cast members. Even though I’m feeling rather like a nun lately, it still amazes me that I’m supposed to act in this play. In front of hundreds of people.

  “Some of you are new to the stage,” Nate says, as if he’s reading my mind. “Some of you are not. But all of you are now united as one. Today, I don’t want to do a read-through. There is time for that tomorrow. Today, I want us to learn to trust one another.”

  There is that word again. Trust. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust another human being ever again. Certainly not another vampire.

  “There will be times when things go wrong,” Nate continues. “Maybe you’ll forget a line. Maybe you’ll miss an entrance. A door will jam. A curtain will fail to go down on cue. The audience will collectively erupt in a chorus of coughing. You will get through it. That is what makes drama succeed—a group of people who work together.”

  Nate stops and looks around the room, his eyes resting briefly on each one of us. It makes me anxious, him looking at me like that, and just then I realize that this is his point—he is trying to get us used to being stared at. Scrutinized.

  “This is a challenging play,” he goes on. “Not purely a comedy. Not purely a tragedy. It is the story of power, of hypocrisy, of an eye for an eye.”

  I look across the stage and feel a surge of excitement mixed with fear. Everyone else seems so confident, like this is all old news to them. Then again, maybe they’re nervous, too, but they’re just better actors than I am. I can feel a bead of sweat on my forehead and hope no one notices when I wipe it away.

  Then my eyes connect with Tyler’s. He’s been watching me and probably saw. Embarrassed, I try to smile, and I’m amazed when he smiles back. A warm, human smile.

  “Kat?” I look up. Nate is looking at me.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell us something about yourself that nobody in this room knows.”

  “That should be easy,” I say, “since I don’t know most of you.” Nobody seems to get my little joke. So I look down and think for a second. I could tell them I shot my father and ran away from home. Or that I’ve fallen for not one but two vampires since moving to Lithia. But that is probably not the best way to get things started.