Biggest loaded question ever. Nothing much, Jane hurled cake, we got in a high-speed chase with a murderer. Same old shit. This conversation was on him.
He cleared his throat. “Oh, Jane had to do this service project thing over at the women’s shelter the school works with. I went with her.”
“Are you a volunteer?”
“Sometimes. Over the holidays my friend and I taught an art class together for the children living there. I enjoyed working with the kids.”
“You’re an artist, also?” she asked. She had on the most beautiful rings made of wide bands of gold and an enormous square diamond was on her left hand. The house, the jewelry…I was seeing a different side of Connor. The scruffy, vandalizing boy I knew seemed out of place. Except his mother had the same dark and wavy hair and they shared the same long, artistic hands. Pieces of the Connor puzzle fit together. He was a square peg.
“We’re in the same art class,” Connor answered for me. He tapped his fist on the counter and flashed me a grin. “And English.”
Disturbed by the attention, I studied the kitchen, which was a piece of art itself. Modern, yet retaining its historic appeal. My mother would kill for this house. I realized everyone was waiting for me to contribute to the conversation. I blushed. “Your house is beautiful. My mother would love your kitchen.”
“We finished renovating it last year. It was the last room we worked on. Connor still can’t find where everything goes.” She winked at her son. “I would love to have your mother over to see it—anytime. Do you live in the neighborhood?”
“Yes, we moved here last year,” I said. Connor nudged my foot with his and I followed his line of sight. His attention was on Emma, or over her to be exact. Evan hovered in the doorway.
“I, I…” the words clung to my throat. Evan’s expression was desperate. He knew what happened.
“So, yeah, I think we’re going to head upstairs.” Connor jumped in and backed out the door, gesturing for me to follow.
His mother didn’t seem concerned about where we were going, which made me wonder if having girls up to his room was a common occurrence, but before I could dwell on it, Connor waved me over again with a false calm on his face. I passed Emma, who had no idea a dead boy stood behind her. Connor poked her side, gaining a laugh, but it was all muted noise in the background because I couldn’t keep my eyes off Evan. He never appeared like this. And he’d never appeared in front of me and Connor at the same time—not since that first day.
We exited the kitchen and I kept my eyes trained on Evan’s back—he led us down the hallway and spun around the banister leading upstairs. I ducked behind Connor, allowing him to wrap his hand in mine, and we followed Evan up the glossy hardwood stairs to the second floor. Evan stopped outside a door and he and Connor shared some kind of “man” nod.
I sighed at the absurdity of it all, but continued to follow Connor until he gestured for me to go ahead of him into the room. The manners on this boy were stellar even in a time of pressure. When I stepped over the threshold, I could tell it was his room, and despite the circumstances that brought me here I couldn’t help but be curious.
The sheer and utter destruction that lay before me spoke volumes. In one word, his room could be called a disaster.
My nose wrinkled at the smell. It wasn’t foul, but a familiar chemical odor lingered in the air. Piles of books and papers covered his desk. Posters, paintings, sketches, and photographs lined the walls. I could barely make out the color of the paint underneath everything. One wall was covered in graffiti tags, a paint splattered sheet protecting the floor. Spray paint cans lined the walls, organized by color, explaining the smell.
I glanced around the room, my eyes skimming past the dirty laundry and empty soda bottles and discarded shoes strewn about, until I stopped at his bed. Oh my God, his bed.
I knew then and there, no self respecting female would set a finger on that, much less the rest of her. Yuck. My concerns about Allison eased…
The door latched and I spun, facing the two boys. Evan’s shoulders hunched and his fists bulged in the fabric at his thighs. Connor realized the state of his room and began an irrational, half-hearted attempt to tidy up the disaster surrounding us. After a couple seconds he gave up and ran his hands through his hair.
“Sorry about the mess.”
I ignored him. “What do you know?” I asked Evan.
“I saw her and the girls. I saw what he did to her.”
I stepped forward, Connor forgotten. I longed to hug him and willed him to take comfort in hugging me. He kept his distance. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I told you not to go.” The tone of his voice stunned me. It was hard and cold.
“I know but—”
He grabbed my shoulders. “There are no ‘buts’ here, Jane. I told you. Not. To. Go.”
I twisted under the pressure of his hands. “Evan…” I tried to apologize but nothing coherent came out.
“Evan,” Connor jumped in. “Come on, man, don’t do this.” His hand was on my back, warm and firm, pulling me away from Evan’s grip.
Evan’s face twisted in pain. “Do what? Get angry? Upset? Mad? Why not? Your mother is in the kitchen with her fat diamonds and perfect hair. And her mother,” he swung and pointed at me, “she’s there every day, happy and content with her family and life. Mine? She lost me and lives each day in fear. Don’t tell me what to do.”
My heart broke to see Evan crack before me. He was so helpless and so angry. He slumped even more and dropped his head into his hands. “There’s nothing I can do. I can’t help her. Next time, he’ll kill her.”
“Evan,” Connor said “Let us help. Come on. It’s why we’re here.”
Evan looked at me. “What would I do if he hurt you, too? I’d be stuck here forever dealing with the guilt and pain of that as well. I can’t handle any more. I was sent here as punishment for not helping my mom and sisters in the first place. I failed then and I’ll fail now.”
I couldn’t understand why he thought this way.
“This isn’t your fault. None of it is! You were sent here for me, to help me. Was that a punishment, too?” Once again, I moved toward him, but Connor’s hand stayed firm on my back and he twisted his fingers in my shirt, holding me in place.
I struggled to pull away but he held tight and moved his body in front of mine. “Evan, we’re here for you and we plan on helping you through this when we figure out how to do it safely,” Connor said, and taking time to give me a pointed look. “I know you’re angry and upset but don’t talk to Jane like that—it’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve it.”
Evan’s eyes flashed. “Don’t talk to me about fair, just…” he grappled for words. He took a deep breath, “Just stay away from them and I’ll stay away from you.” With that he disappeared from the room.
What? No, no, no, no. “Evan!” I hoped he would hear me and come back, but after a moment of silence I knew he was gone. Upset, I shoved Connor away from me. “Why’d you push him?”
Connor’s hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing furiously. “Because I didn’t like him talking to you like that! You have a job to do and his interference will make it impossible. Making you feel guilty was a new low.”
“You don’t understand. He’s my best friend and you just ran him off!” Useless tears rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them off with the back of my hand. “Plus, he’s right. This is my fault.”
The reality of Evan’s accusations sunk in and I searched for a place to sit. It was impossible though, because there was clutter everywhere. Connor caught on to my distress and shoved books and papers and video game controllers off an armchair next to his bed. Connor claimed the seat before I could, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulled me onto his lap.
I landed without grace, heavy and hard, squirming a little as I shifted my legs to hang over the side of his. Connor’s hands moved to my hips and held me still.
“Stop moving
around.” His voice was low and right in my ear. I did as he said and he removed his hands from my waist and rubbed my arms instead. His actions met what I wanted from and for Evan, but we couldn’t give it to each other. No matter how hard we tried, we were doomed to fail one another. I sniffed back another wave of tears, but gave up and smashed my face in Connor’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know.”
“I mean, everything I do seems to make it worse.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Disgusting. I didn’t even try to look at his face. I could only imagine what he thought about me sitting on him, blubbering and whining. Again.
“We’re just going about this the wrong way,” he said. So stubborn.
I turned my face back into his shoulder and inhaled his scent. Sweat and boy. His fingers were still on my arm, but the touch was lighter, extending from my shoulder to my fingertips. My stomach tensed every time his skin came in contact with mine. Everything about Connor was so right and also so very, very wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to right myself, but his hands held me to his chest.
“About what?”
“This. Whatever this is.” I said the words to his chest, pressing my ear so I could hear his heartbeat. “I know you want to help with Evan and I won’t deny you that, but the rest of it—whatever it is between us? You didn’t ask for the drama.”
Connor laughed and the noise echoed through his chest. I was shocked at the response and sat up in surprise. His blue eyes were dark and tight. “I know you’re having a hard time accepting this, but I’m not going anywhere.” He ran his thumb over the side of my neck. “Trust me.”
I shivered and twisted my neck away from him. “I want to. I just don’t understand why you want to get involved with all this. I mean, normally…” I rolled my eyes, “I don’t cry nearly this much. Or get in this much trouble. Or need saving. It’s not really my thing.”
The boy underneath me pressed his head back into the chair and raised an eyebrow high enough that I couldn’t see it under his too-long hair. “Normally, I get into way more trouble, and smoke and drink too much and fight with my parents, skip school and would never, ever, invite a girl up to my room.” He shrugged, daring me to challenge him. “People change and go through stuff. Right now, I want to go through stuff with you.”
I sifted through his words. “Right now?”
“Today and tomorrow and any day after that.” He pressed his lips to mine as though to seal it.
Such a player.
He leaned back. “I know you think I’m full of crap, Jane, but it’s true. I was in this from the beginning.” He lowered his voice. “Way before you were.”
“What do you mean?”
“It took me a minute to get past Evan and the idea you could see ghosts, too—I admit, it drew me to you in the first place, but that day you told me off in the hallway during art, and every encounter we had after that? I knew.”
I swallowed, needing him to spell it out. “Knew what?”
He focused on my mouth. “That I wanted you to tell me off like that all the time. Everyone is scared of me, but not you. The kids at school either want to be my friend or run in the opposite direction. You were different. And hot. So I pursued you.”
“You were acting like a stalker!”
“Whatever. I knew you would get me and maybe not judge me for all the garbage in my past.”
“I may have judged you a little.” Or a lot.
“Most of all, I knew that we’re not like everyone else.” His forehead pressed into mine. So close, but not close enough.
“Obviously.” I said. “So you knew that day? In the hall? I thought it was New Year’s Eve.”
He scratched his chin. “Nope. Way before that.”
I wanted to hide my face—he was so bold.
He wove his fingers into mine. “Plus, I think this is bigger than the two of us. Stop over thinking it.”
I stared at this weird boy. Troublesome and poetic—a deadly mix. He had his baggage and wanted mine, too. I had no reason to deny him or resist him any further, so when he placed a hand behind my neck and leaned in, I let him kiss me. And when he pressed his lips harder, with less hesitation, more determination, I closed my eyes and sunk into it, letting him distract me from the day and the pain, for now just being in the moment.
THAT NIGHT, I SKIPPED homework to shower and fall into bed. My entire body ached with exhaustion. The surprise and upset of the shelter was bad enough, but the fallout with Evan set the entire day on a tailspin. Not to mention, John following us and Connor’s declaration in his room.
This was more than a girl could handle.
Even though my body was worn out, my head whirled with information. I arranged my blankets and picked up my book from the bedside table. I allowed myself to sink into the words on the page until my eyes drooped. A tap on the door and an immediate twist of the knob woke me up.
“You’re in bed kind of early,” my mom said, emerging from the dark hallway.
“It was a long day.” I shifted my legs, making space.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Did something happen at the shelter?”
“Kind of.”
My mother patted my knee, with one of those touches that made me feel eight years old again. Right now I wished I was eight years old. “Tell me.”
“There was a woman there and she had been badly beaten. It was just hard to see.” I waited for the tears to start, but nothing came. I was dry.
“Oh, honey.”
“It was horrible. Her neck…”
“I can only imagine. It’s hard to see people in pain like that.”
“It was.” I kept my eyes low.
She ran her hands over the blanket. I made a quick decision before I could change my mind. “I need to tell you something.”
“Anything.”
“But I need to trust you.”
“Trust me how?” She sounded nervous.
“Just let me tell you this—and just support me, okay? No judgments. No freaking out.”
She paused and I studied her face. She mulled it over. Eventually she said, ”I can’t promise that. I tend to freak. You know that. But I won’t judge.”
It took me a second to get started, my mouth opened and closed more than once. “I’ve still been seeing the…um…ghost.” Her face became ashen. “He never left.”
“So you lied before to the doctors and the counselors?”
I stiffened. A liar. One way or the other it was exactly what I was. “Yes, I did, because I knew that I wasn’t crazy.” The word hung in the air. “I’m not crazy.”
She sighed and rubbed my leg. “I know, honey. It’s just—”
“No! I’m not. I know crazy people never think they’re crazy, but I’m not. I don’t know why I can see him, but I can. I’ve accepted it. I need you to, also.”
Worry lines tugged at her mouth and it made her seem older than she was. I hated that I caused her stress. “I know, Jane. You’re not crazy.” She sighed and smoothed my hair. “I hoped it would go away. I didn’t want this for you.”
“Want what?”
“This. All of it. Jeannie thinks it’s a blessing. I don’t know, though. It always seemed more like a curse.”
I was confused. “Jeannie?”
Conflict showed on her face, primarily in the crease in her forehead. “When we were kids, I thought it was all a game. Pretend and make-believe. Like cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians. Jeannie and I played Gypsies. We would tie our hair back in bright colored scarves and steal Mama’s costume jewelry and tell each other’s fortunes. It was fun.”
My mother sat on the edge of my bed and in that moment, I wasn’t sure if she had turned into a stranger or if everything had just become epically clear. Whichever, I was riveted.
“Jeannie would play the fortune teller and I would round up all the kids in the neighborhood to your grandmother’s house, where we would be set up with a small table and two chairs o
n the porch. For a nickel she would read their palms and look for their future in her crystal ball. Her ‘ball’ was a small upside down vase she found at the five and dime that had a shimmery blue glaze on the glass.” She smiled briefly at the memory. “Jeannie was a professional, even then. She could convince anyone of anything.”
I imagined them sitting on my grandmother’s porch telling fortunes. It was like an image out of a book.
“Typically, she would tell the girls they were getting married or going to have two girls and no boys. Occasionally she would tell them a tale of adventure or fantasy. She had Catherine Blake convinced she was going to marry Prince Charles. But, one day I recruited Tommy Johnson to come over. His father was in the war—Vietnam,” she clarified. “Tommy was this small kid, really cute. I brought him over to Jeannie. Even before he sat down she started acting strange. Just staring him down. But Jeannie was always dramatic, so again, I thought she was just playing her part. She reached for his hand, but didn’t really look at it, her eyes were glued to Tommy—or around Tommy I should say.”
I was so enthralled by her story I had to force myself to interrupt. “What was she doing?”
“She saw his aura. She told me later that Tommy was surrounded by a haze of black. She knew nothing about reading auras then. She didn’t even know that was what it was called. But she saw the darkness radiating off of Tommy and she knew what it was. On instinct, I suppose.”
“Death?” I asked, remembering her own words to me and how she saw—or felt—Evan’s presence at Thanksgiving.
My mother nodded. “She gave Tommy his nickel back and never read his palm. She never read any of the kids’ palms again in the neighborhood. Everything clicked for her, though, when days later a man from the army came to Tommy’s house and told them his father was killed in action. She was convinced this was the darkness that had surrounded him.”
I shifted in the bed. “So you’re saying she can read auras and all that, for real.”
My mother grimaced. “Yes, I think she can.”
Butterflies filled my stomach. “And me? What does this have to do with me?”
Wraith Page 17
