by Sarah Dalton
I hate to admit it, but my legs are weak. I struggle onto my feet and clutch a table for support.
“You’re not well,” he observes. “I’m taking you home whether you like it or not.”
“I’m not some bird with a broken wing that you can fix you know.” My words would’ve been stronger had I not been gripping onto a table to stop myself falling down. Jack just sighs in response, and hooks his arm under my arm pit.
“Have you even eaten today?” he asks.
I genuinely can’t remember, but the pride in me answers, “Yes, of course.”
“What the hell is going on?” he mutters. “You were so together a few weeks ago.”
“And now I’m a mess,” I finish for him. “Thanks for pointing that out.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “Look, I know you keep refusing to listen to me, but I really do think that you need to talk to someone.”
“And like I said before, who am I going to talk to? How am I going to explain the ghost thing?”
“You could talk to me,” he says.
As we struggle through the classroom door and out into the corridor his gaze bores into mine. The thrill of his touch, of his closeness, is back. But now, all I can think about is him, the voice, and I’m so ashamed of even feeling the slightest attraction for Jack that I push him away.
“There’s no need to push me.” He grinds his jaw tight. “If you’re not interested, all you have to do is say.”
Before Jack can storm off I raise my hands. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m just… things are hard for me right now.”
“I know,” he says. “I want to help.”
“I’m just not sure you can.”
“It helped me to tell you everything that happened to me. Have you forgotten that already?” The hurt on his face makes my heart pang.
“No, of course not. What you told me was brave.” If terrifying. “It’s all just a bit much for me to process right now. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you should take me home. Actually, can you. Please?”
What I don’t say is that I want to go home, sneak into bed, and sleep away reality. What he doesn’t know is that I don’t want to be part of this world anymore, I only want to be part of the world where his voice whispers to me in that beautiful field of green. Where there are no ghosts, no visions, no Jack, Willa or Lacey, and no dead bodies.
*
On a drab Sunday, Katie Hodge’s body was buried in the ground. It drizzled from the morning, right through the church service, and all the way through the burial at the cemetery. As I sat on the cold pew of the church, I tried not to let my eyelids droop, and my mind wander back to the dream. I forced myself awake more than once. Jack, at my side, cast a sideways glance at me more than once. It said “what the fuck?” and I felt the same way. What. Is. Going. On?
That’s partly why I came, why we all came. Lacey is here, too, floating and crackling around the church. Her anxiety comes out in her physical form, making her skin pasty, the wound on her back more prominent. I wince when I think about what it must be like to be a ghost at a funeral. I can’t imagine what sort of feelings it brings up.
I had hoped that Katie herself would come. I mean, I know I would. Can you imagine the temptation? All those people saying nice things about you, even if they didn’t like you? It wouldn’t be like spying on people when you’re alive. No. Then they’d bitch and moan. This is finding out the little things you did that made a difference to someone. Funerals are for the people left behind, but I think that’s wrong. We should have a day of eulogies. I want to know what my legacy will be when I’m around to appreciate it.
But Katie never shows. Which I think is pretty weird. She’s a new ghost, she shouldn’t have anywhere to go or be—unless she’s moved on, which I find doubtful after she attacked Willa like that—or anyone to be with apart from her family and her funeral. There is definitely something strange happening here. I can’t help feeling that Katie is somehow being controlled. From a more powerful ghost, perhaps?
We head to the reception and I feel like a fraud. Willa and Jack are quiet, too. We’re not saying it, but we all feel like frauds. We hardly knew her. We didn’t know her at all, in fact. But I need to talk to the parents somehow. I’m already dreading it.
“Everyone seems normal,” Willa remarks. “Her family are regular.” She glances around the small living room of the house. Katie’s home. Her eyes trail over china mouse ornaments, mantelpiece clocks, DFS sofas. She’s right. Everything is normal.
“Whatever made Katie fight you it’s not anything to do with her family or upbringing,” I reply.
“Maybe we should go,” Jack says. “This feels… disrespectful.”
“I… I want to find out more first,” I say. “Willa was nearly hurt after all.”
He shrugs. I do find his lazy style of communication frustrating at times. Monosyllabic is one thing, but indifferent shrugs? That’s just rude.
Katie’s parents are red eyed and pale. For most of the service, her mother clung onto her father. She’s a skinny woman with highlighted blonde hair and a down-turned mouth. He’s a little bulkier, with a beer belly and a rugged beard. I take a deep breath and head over to them.
“Hi,” I say, standing in front of them feeling like an inconsiderate idiot. “I went to school with Katie.”
Her father holds out a hand and I shake it. “It’s so nice that so many of her school friends came. Katie would have liked that.” He smiles, and his eyes shine with tears. He sniffs his tears away and clears his throat. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m so sorry about… I’m sorry for your loss,” I say. I bite my lip, the words are a cliché. But what else can you say?
“I just wish she’d had all these people around her when she was alive.” Her mother’s voice is distant. She stares above my head at a spot on the wall. “That’s what she needed. She was always so alone. Always in her room just not doing anything. Not being part of the world.”
“She was quiet at school, too,” I say. “I wish I’d made more of an effort with her.” That part is true. We all feel responsible when we miss someone in pain. At least, we ought to.
She wipes a tear from her eyes. “I’d give anything to go back and help her. She needed… she needed our help and we let her…”
“Don’t say that, Jean,” her dad says. “Don’t, because we can’t go back now.”
“She wasn’t right and I knew it, but I carried on like everything was fine. She was sleeping all the time, having those strange dreams, hearing voices. We took her to the doctor but we were waiting for a specialist, weren’t we? And in that time…” She clamps a hand over her mouth and a sob erupts from her body.
But I’m hardly listening. All I can think about are the dreams. The voices. Katie had dreams and voices, too. It can’t be? But what if? No. It can’t be like my dream? Can it?
Chapter Nine
LACEY
When Mary comes back from talking to the parents, she’s pale and quiet.
“What did they say?” I ask.
“Nothing important,” Mary replies. “Pretty much what we already know. Katie was hearing voices before she died. She was quiet and withdrawn and spent a lot of time alone.”
“Do you think she was depressed, then?” Willa asks. “I mean, it makes sense that she was depressed and troubled before she took her own life. But why would she attack me after she died? None of this makes sense. Unless… it must have something to do with the voices. Do you think Katie could see ghosts? It would explain the odd behaviour and the voices. If somehow, she figured out I could see ghosts as well it might explain all this weird stuff. Maybe the ghosts can sense us. Maybe that’s why they’re haunting us right after they die.”
But Mary’s eyes are glazed over and she’s staring out into the distance. “I guess so. It does make sense. But if that’s true, why aren’t we being inundated with ghosts? And why are they outright attacking us? Not all ghosts are violent.�
� She shakes her head. She seems more focussed than before. “There are too many unanswered questions.”
Willa shrugs. “This could be something specific to new ghosts? Unless there’s someone making them come to us.”
Mary’s eyes seem to flash. I frown, wondering what’s going on with her.
“Willa might be right.” Jack adds.
And I agree.
But none of it explains why Mary looks like she’s just been given a death sentence.
“We should go,” Mary says. “Lacey should stay with Willa just in case Katie comes back. We don’t know if she’s moved on yet.”
“Don’t you think we should all be together?” Willa suggests. “You have the Athamé, Mary—”
“No,” she snaps. “No, I… I have family stuff to do this evening.” She flashes us a half-hearted smile. “Sorry. Otherwise, I would.”
I notice Jack’s brow furrow. He’s become as tuned to Mary’s moods as I am. Why those two won’t just jump each other’s bones I don’t know. What are they even waiting for? Neither of them are dead. If I still had a beating heart and blood running through my veins I’d be jumping on top of anyone and everyone who’d have me. Maybe even guys. Ugh. Okay, not guys.
We walk back to the car in silence. The events of the day catching up with us. Even I can feel the chill on the air, although I can’t feel the wet drizzle in the air. A girl is dead. The world is a little smaller, a little quieter. Did the world feel my death? Did I leave a Lacey-shaped hole when I passed?
“I’m not sure you should be alone,” Jack says to Mary as we get into the car. “If Willa is right, and new ghosts are targeting those with your powers, then that means you’re at risk.”
“I have the Athamé, remember? I’ll be fine.” Mary stares out of the window, leaning her forehead against the glass.
“Mares.” I make myself visible in the backseat. There’s no one around and I want everyone to hear this. Jack glowers at me in the mirror after almost jumping out of his skin. “The safest thing is for all of us to stay together. Why don’t you let Willa and Jack go back to yours? We can hang out, visit Emmaline, try and make sense of what’s going on. Two suicides, Mary. That’s not normal. And both of those ghosts have come to you or Willa. There’s something going on, you have to admit it.”
“I don’t care,” Mary snaps. “I want to go home and I want to be alone. I’m sick of this. Sick of death and ghosts. You do what you want. I’m going home.”
I’ve never seen her face contort that way, and it frightens me. I exchange glances with both Willa and Jack, who are frowning and pale. What are we going to do if she won’t let us help her?
*
After dropping Mary off at Ravenswood, I stay with Willa and Jack. I know I should stay with Mary, but I can’t face her. Not when she’s being like this. I’ll wait until tonight and go back when she’s asleep. I’ll check in on her and make sure everything is all right.
“It’s PTSD,” Jack says. “It has to be. Everything she’s been through.” He shakes his head. “You should’ve seen her at school. She was shaking, she could hardly walk. She kept muttering about corpses and some dream she was having. We need to help her.”
“She doesn’t want our help,” Willa says softly. “How do you help someone who refuses to accept it?”
“You don’t,” I say. Living with a drug addict mother taught me that.
When we get to the Maynard’s home, Jack disappears to watch TV or listen to music or write a book or whatever it is he does in his free time. The house is empty as always. The housekeeper has straightened the place, filled the fridge, and set the heating to the right temperature. It strikes me as such an odd way to live. Everything is perfect, but does it really matter when you’re always on your own? I wasn’t so much brought up as dragged up. I didn’t have parents. I had one drug addict who couldn’t even look after herself. But day after day of coming home to an empty house, is that better?
“Want to watch a film?” Willa asks.
“No.” I offer her a smile. “Not really.”
“Are you worried about Mary?” she asks.
I am. “I just feel helpless. I think she might be losing it. I… I don’t know.” I shake my head. “What do you think I should do?”
“Well, I would suggest talking to her parents, but—”
“I’m a ghost,” I say whilst rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, there is that. I could talk to them. Or at least her mum, because she knows about the whole ghost whispering thing.” Willa’s eyes crinkle as she smiles.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It feels like a betrayal. If she doesn’t get any better then we’ll have to.”
“All right. You’re the boss, you know her best.” Willa flops onto the sofa, pulls her socks off, and starts flicking through the channels. Her funeral clothes are barely formal. She wore black trousers, black ADIDAS trainers and a shapeless jumper. But somehow it all fit together to make some sort of “Willa” statement. I guess beautiful people can wear a potato sack and still look stylish.
“It was a nice service, wasn’t it?” I say. “Everyone cared. Did you see the photograph they used? It was lovely. And the hymns were pretty.”
Willa straightens her back. “You’re talking about it like it was a wedding!”
“Sorry,” I say with a laugh. “I guess funerals are like weddings for me now. A place to hang out with the other ghosts in town. Except there weren’t any today.”
“It was a tough day for you, wasn’t it?” she says. “It reminded you of your own…” Willa stops before she says the word “funeral”. Maybe she doesn’t want to remind herself that I’m dead.
“I didn’t think it would hit me so hard, I guess.” I shrug. “You know when you made me watch that Bambi film and it reminded me of my death? Well it was like that, but worse. When the guy was talking and everyone started throwing the dirt into the coffin, I ached. My body actually ached. There was a physical pull.”
Willa leans towards me. “You mean, to the otherside?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I guess so.”
“Jesus.”
“I know. I mean, I’m not ready to go yet, but I still felt that pull. Do you think I should be worried about it? I think I am worried. What if it wasn’t coming from me? What if someone was pulling me towards the otherside?”
“Don’t read too much into it. Like you said, it was an emotional day. You watched another person be buried after watching yourself only months ago. Hey, we’ll figure it out, okay?”
“We’d better,” I say. “I didn’t work this hard to stay here only to get yanked into oblivion by some fuckhead spirit.”
She laughs, then glances at the clock on the wall. “Oh, shit, I’d better get ready.”
“Get ready for what?” I ask.
“I have a date tonight.”
The words are a punch to my gut. “Oh, right. A date. Who with?”
“This girl in the year above. She’s really cute. We got chatting in the girl’s loos the other day and it turns out she’s also into girls. We’re meeting for a drink in an hour so I’d better get ready.”
“You’re dating?” I can’t believe it. My skin is like ice. The electricity crackles through my veins. What the fuck?
“Well, yeah. I never stopped. You know what I’m like. I like company. It’s just a bit of fun.”
“But what about…?” I stop myself before I make a fool of myself.
“What about what?” Willa looks at me with wide, innocent eyes.
Then it dawns on me. She has no idea. She is completely clueless to how I feel. All this time I’ve been imagining that there’s something between us, and all this time I’ve been a complete and utter idiot. There isn’t anything between us at all. It’s all me. I’m just a twat with an unrequited crush. The embarrassment is like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face. All this time.
“I should check on Mary,” I say. “Enjoy your date.”
“Lace… but
? Did I do something wrong?”
I get up from the sofa, aware of how my hair is moving around my head, like bloody demented Amy in Nettleby. Like I need reminding that I’m dead at this particular moment in time?
“No. Mary needs me.”
“Lace.”
Her voice fades away as I disappear into limbo. My last thoughts are of how stupid I’ve been.
Chapter Ten
MARY
Katie Hodge ran a bath, climbed into it up to her neck, and cut her wrists. Then she waited, feeling light headed and groggy, as the blood ran from her body. With every step as I climb the stairs to my bedroom, I imagine her blood soaked fingers reaching for me. Her fingernails on my ankles.
There’s no escaping the fear. No matter how much I might like to pretend otherwise, Katie’s death is linked to the death of the bridge girl, and there could be a connection to the voice. I reach the top of the stairs and stop moving. I can’t bear it. He can’t be anything to do with Katie. How was that mundane girl even worth his time? He built the dreamworld for me. I am the one he loves. The one he wants.
As I pry my fingers from the bannister, I realise that I’ve been holding my breath. My hand is stiff and cold, and the knuckles are white from where I’ve been gripping the wooden bannister. This is all stupid. All I need to do is go into my dreamworld and see him again. He’ll set everything straight for me. It’s all a big misunderstanding. She wasn’t worthy of him. Only I am.
When I step into my room, some of those worries are already fading. There is my bed. Mum has made if for me, straightening the sheets and fluffing the pillows. It’s so inviting. I long to feel the cotton against my skin and lay my head down on that soft pillow. I pull off my clothes, my heartbeat quickening. I let down my hair. There’s no time to remove the make-up from my face. No. I can’t wait any longer. I need to be away from this world and with him again. I’ve spent too long away from him.
