OTTSVILLE TOWNSHIP & SURROUNDING
TERRITORIES, 30 MR, PENNSYLVANIA
“What does that mean?” I ask, pointing.
Sam glances in the direction of my finger. “Each door designates a certain place. This one will always take whoever goes through it to the town of Ottsville and anywhere within a thirty mile radius.”
“Oh.” I guess it makes sense. “How many doors are there?”
“In the hallway? Nearly an infinite amount.”
“So how do we find the one we want?”
“It works a lot like creating a Jump Door. Think of where you want to go, and the right door should appear,” Sam explains.
He makes it sound easy, but when he rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms, I realize with a little jolt of apprehension that he wants me to call up the correct door. “Uh… so how do I do this?”
Half of Sam’s face is hidden in shadow, but I can see the flash of his white teeth as he grins. “Going to the present is slightly different. You have to think of a person you want to go to instead of a place. Give it your best shot.”
My eyes narrow. I don’t like the arrogance in Sam’s tone, or his cocky smile. He thinks I’m going to fail, I realize. He thinks he has given me a task I can’t possibly complete, and he’s waiting to see the expression on my face when I have to ask him for help. What a jerk.
“Out of the way,” I demand, waving my arms in a sweeping half circle. Sam steps neatly to the side as I close my eyes and imagine Brian’s face. I can’t know for sure if he would be at my funeral, but that doesn’t matter. I want to go where ever he is. I want to see him, one last time. To see that he is all right. To see that he is happy. To see that he is alive.
I hear a quiet whoosh of air, and then feel a breeze move across my face. It intensifies in strength, whipping my hair back and making it difficult to open my eyes. When I do, I am amazed by the sight in front of me.
Doors are flying past, so quick they are nothing more than a blur of different colors, some green, some blue, others black and orange and pink. The lights overhead flare bright, blinding me, and I stagger from the weight of the wind.
“How are you doing this?” Sam shouts.
I see him out of the corner of my eye. He has braced himself, legs apart, arms tightly crossed. I would have laughed at the disbelief written in clear lines across his face, if I could move my lips.
“There,” he yells suddenly, jabbing out one arm to point at a door that is rapidly approaching. “That’s the one you want. We have to jump, it won’t stop!”
I wonder how he knows that’s the right one, until it draws closer and I see it is the only door that is open wide, revealing what is on the other side. I see a flash of a bright blue sky, the pale white of snow, people huddled together in dark clusters, and Brian. I see Brian.
Sam grabs my arm. Our fingers entwine and lock. We crouch low, our eyes trained on the door. When it is right in front of us, we leap through it together.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“Did we make it?” I sit up, one hand pressed to the side of my head. Sam is sprawled face first in front of me. He sits up and groans, before he shoots to his feet and whirls around, his eyes wide.
“Win you did it,” he says in a hushed voice. “Do you know what this means?”
I push myself to my feet, wincing a bit as my right shoulder moans in protest. “I’m really awesome?” I guess.
Sam shoots me a look. “No, it means you’re a Level Two. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Uh, because I didn’t know?” Except I kind of did. Ellie’s cryptic message plays back in my mind:
You are welcome, by the way.
For what?
You will see.
I punch Sam in the arm. Hard.
“Hey,” he complains, scowling at me. “What was that for?”
“For setting me up to fail. If I was a Level One I never would have been able to move those doors, would I?”
“Well… no,” he admits, not quite meeting my eyes.
“You’re lucky that you’re cute.” The words are out before I have time to snatch them back. Utterly mortified, I walk swiftly past him. Snow crunches under my feet. I recognize the back of the resort a few yards in front of us, and I start to follow the trail that leads to the front, keeping a sharp eye out for Brian.
Sam trails after me, his expression stunned. “You think I’m cute?”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“But isn’t that what you just said? Were you serious?”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“I mean, my mom always said I was cute. I guess I just never really believed her until right—”
“Sam, shut UP!” Incensed, I stop short. Sam slams into me from behind and the momentum carries us both rolling down over a short, steep incline I had been trying to avoid. We land in a tangle of arms and legs. Spitting out a mouthful of snow, I glare darkly up at Sam.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, adjusting his glasses and offering out a hand.
“You’re on thin ice,” I warn as I haul myself up.
“Really?” he says skeptically.
“Really what?”
“You’re going to use that analogy? Come on. It’s a little obvious, isn’t it? I mean, ‘thin ice’? You can do better than that.”
How is that Sam can make me want to scream at the top of my lungs and laugh until I cry at the same time? Shaking my head, I march on, lured by the sober hum of voices. Having my funeral at the place where I died wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I suppose there is some kind of poetic justice in all of it.
After all, how many memorials have I seen on the interstate? Flowers left out by the telephone pole that claimed a life too soon. Ribbons tied to the tree that went head to head with a motorcycle and won.
People find comfort in believing their loved ones are at peace, even if it means honoring the place where they died.
We reach the edge of the small crowd that has gathered to mourn my death in front of the resort. Everyone is bundled up in dark clothing, their faces shielded from the cold by fur hats and scarves.
“Why would they have it outside?” I murmur to Sam.
“They did the same thing with me,” he says, standing close. “Do you see your dad or Brian?”
I squint, looking for their familiar faces. To my surprise I see Bridget standing near the front, closest to the priest who is dressed all in black and speaking in a low, gravelly voice. Her eyes are bright with tears and as I watch, barely able to believe what I am seeing, she brings a tissue out of her coat pocket and blows loudly into it. “No, I don’t see them. We have to get closer.”
Sam grasps my elbow. “Be careful,” he says in my ear. “You know the number one rule. Don’t interfere with the lives of the living. You can walk past them. You can even touch them or speak to them, but you can’t do anything that would change their natural actions.”
I bite down on my lip, drawing comfort from the feel of my lip ring gliding against my teeth. “Will they be able to see me?”
“No,” Sam says vehemently. “Absolutely not. They can’t sense you either. No one will have any idea we’re here.”
I take a deep breath. Sam must sense my apprehension, because he rests his hand in the small of my back and presses gently.
“Take your time,” he says.
I have made it this far by pretending the sleek black coffin resting in front of the priest is anyone other than me. At least the lid is closed. I don’t know if I would have been able to go up to the front and stare down at my lifeless body.
“Did you go to your funeral?” I ask Sam over my shoulder.
“Yes.”
“Did it help?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his gray eyes thoughtful, before he finally says, “Yeah, it did. A lot.”
That’s all I need to hear. Silently I hold out my hand. Sam takes it without hesitating and together we cut a swath through the crowd. I recognize people as we walk past them.
People from the resort. People from home. People from school. So many people, people who haven’t talked to me in years, people who I haven’t seen since the last funeral I attended.
Anger blossoms inside of me, hot and boiling, like a pot of water left out too long on the stove. Sam’s fingers tighten.
“Calm down,” he hisses. “It’s going to be okay. You can do this.”
I can do this.
We drift to the front, to the first row of plastic white folding chairs that have been set out side by side. The priest is still speaking, but I tune him out. I tune out everything and everyone, because there, sitting directly in front of my coffin, is what remains of my family.
Brian sits in my dad’s lap. He is still, too still for a five year old boy. He doesn’t even blink as he stares straight ahead, his little face frozen in place. Relief and sadness war within me. Relief that I can finally see for myself that he is all right, and an incredible sadness as it finally sinks in that he is lost to me forever.
Beside him is Trish, vibrant in her hot pink ski suit. I know she has a black coat, just as I know her decision to flaunt the outlandish ski suit is a silent tribute to me and despite myself, I am touched. For once Trish has chosen to stand out from the crowd.
I take a few steps closer. Suddenly my dad’s entire body goes rigid. Brian begins to squirm. My dad says a few quick, urgent words to Trish and she reaches out her arms to take my brother.
“Sam,” I whisper frantically, “Sam I think something is happening. I think… I think my dad knows I’m here.”
“Impossible,” Sam says confidently. “Trust me Win, there’s no way he could. We’re completely invisible to everyone here.”
I glance at my dad again, looking hard at his profile, searching for any signs, however slight, that indicate he somehow senses I am near. Call me crazy, but I don’t hold much stock in the impossible anymore. Not after everything I’ve just been through.
His eyes are bloodshot from crying. He is wearing a formal black suit, one he must have had shipped from home. His hands are clenched tight in his lap and he sits ramrod straight, his spine a good three inches from the back of the chair.
I relax slightly. It must have been my imagination. Of course my dad can’t sense me. Sam is right. We’re invisible as air. As far as my dad is concerned I’m in that coffin, dead and gone.
“Okay. We can go back now. I feel… lighter,” I decide after searching for the right word. And it’s true. I do feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I have seen my dad. I have seen my brother. They’re not perfect, they won’t be perfect for a long time, but they’re alive and that’s more than I can say for myself.
“Are you sure?” Sam asks.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“All right, then follow me and we’ll go back the way we—”
Sam is cut off by a sudden flurry of motion and a man’s desperate yell.
“WINNIFRED!”
I whirl around just in time to see my dad leap up from his chair and stagger towards me, looking as if he’s just seen a ghost. Which, I guess from his perspective, he sort of has. Horrified, Trish tries to grab his hand but he shrugs her off, his gaze unwavering as he stares straight at me.
“Oh shit,” Sam breathes, his gray eyes widening as all the colors drains from his face. “This is not good.”
“Sam, he can see me, right? I mean, look at him!”
My dad is advancing on us with slow, deliberate steps. Sam and I begin to backpedal, tripping over people’s feet and purses as we hastily make our way back down the makeshift aisle.
“Not good,” Sam repeats. His fingers close around my wrist like a vice. “Not good at all. Win, what did you do?”
“Do?” I cry. “I didn’t do anything! You said no one would be able to see us!”
We’ve reached the walkway. It curves to the right, around the back of the resort where we came from. Sam’s pace quickens. I hesitate.
“Winnie,” my dad says brokenly from behind us. “Winnie, is that you?”
“Don’t turn around,” Sam warns me. “Just ignore him and—”
“And what, Sam? He’ll go away?” I plant my feet and pull my hand free. “No. You know I can’t do that.”
“Win, please,” Sam pleads desperately. “We can’t break the rules. Especially not the first one. You have no idea what will happen.”
I smile. It’s a soft, wayward smile. An affectionate smile for my sweater vest Sam. Reaching out, I gently touch his cheek. His shoulders slump in defeat.
“You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” he says.
Silently I shake my head.
“You’re making a huge mistake. Don’t do this, Win. After everything we’ve been through don’t—”
“Shhh.” I bring my finger to my lips before I wrap both arms around him and draw him close. “It’s okay,” I whisper against his neck. He trembles against me. “It will be okay, Sam.” Rearing back, I squeeze his shoulders one last time before I let him go. “Trust me,” I say with a confidence I do not feel.
I have no idea what will happen when I turn and acknowledge my father, or what the consequences of that one action will be. But I do know what will happen if I don’t. Bracing myself for the unknown, I slowly turn around. Sam stays by my side and I draw quiet strength from his presence.
“Winnie?” My dad whispers my name as a myriad of emotions flash across his face. Despair. Sadness. Loss. Hope.
Hope. The one thing that has never abandoned me. I had hope that I would find Brian. Hope that I would save Sam. Hope that I would have the strength to defeat Craven. And a silent hope, a secret hope, that my dad would see me again. That he would really see me, and look at me like he is right now, as if I exist for the first time.
“Hi Dad.” I clear my throat and shuffle from foot to foot as I search for the right thing to say. What exactly do you say to someone who shouldn’t be able to see you? I can think of only one thing. “I’m dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“You have your one big chance and that is what you say?” Sam hisses in my ear. My eyes trained on my father, I elbow him in the ribs.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, if I saw my dad again I would definitely say something—”
“Sam…”
My heart is roaring somewhere in the vicinity of my ears. My throat feels like it is on fire. Even my vision is blurry, but when I blink it clears, and I realize I am crying. Silent tears born of shock and excitement and some other emotion I won’t even hazard a guess at slip down my cheeks and pool in the corners of my mouth.
“I… Yeah, Dad.” I swallow convulsively. “It’s me. Winnie.”
“Winnie?” His eyes squint and narrow on my face. He takes another staggering step forward, but halts just shy of reaching me. My fingers flex, and Sam grabs my arm, as if he knows I am one second away from flinging myself into my dad’s arms and wailing like a baby.
“Don’t touch him,” he says. “Win, something is wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. We have to get back—”
I shake him off. Some dim part of my brain recognizes his words, but the ringing in my ears drowns him out. I feel like I did the first time I visited my tree house, when I found Rodger and almost got pulled inside an old memory. Like I’m slowly spinning around in circles inside a bubble, rolling left and right, up and down, until there is no more left. No more right. No more anything except for what is directly in front of me.
“Dad,” I try again, “it’s okay. I know this seems crazy, I mean, it still seems crazy to me, but I can explain everything.”
“Win, NO.” This time Sam grabs my arm with double the force. He starts to drag me back the way we came. I struggle against him, digging my heels in the snow and trying to pry his fingers away. His grip is relentless, and I cry out when he takes my arm and twists it up behind my back, holding me in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I’m so sorry Winnie, but I c
an’t let you say anything. You don’t know what would happen. We have to go back now, before it gets worse. You have to trust me.”
Trust him? If I could I would throw him over my shoulder and mash his face in the snow. Trust him? I am so furious I can’t even look at him. “You’re just jealous,” I spit out, writhing in vain to free myself.
Sam growls in frustration. “You don’t understand,” he bites out, his breath hot against my neck. “There are consequences to talking to the living. Dangerous consequences. If you thought Craven was bad, you have no idea—”
“Tom? Tom? TOM!” Trish’s shrieking cuts Sam off. He curses under his breath; the first time I can remember him swearing. “Tom, get back here!”
She plows into my dad from behind, knocking him sideways. His arms flail as he regains his balance, but his eyes never leave me. Like laser beams on a target they are locked on. He doesn’t even blink.
“Honey, let’s go back inside,” Trish says, tugging at his arm. He ignores her.
“Winnifred,” he says. “I can see Winnifred.”
“Where?” Trish asks, and I feel a chill race down my spine when she lifts her head to follow his gaze and her eyes pass right through me. To her Sam and I are invisible, just like we should be to my father. For the first time a feeling of unease settles low in my belly. Maybe Sam is right. Maybe something really is wrong.
Dangerous consequences…
I half turn in his arms. “Sam, I, uh… I think we should go back. This doesn’t feel right.”
Relief flickers across his face, followed closely by annoyance. To his credit, however, he doesn’t say ‘I told you so’. He’s a stronger person than I am. “Come on,” he says, letting go of my arm and offering his hand. I link my fingers through his gratefully and squeeze. He gives a little squeeze in return, and together we spin around.
“How do we get back?” I murmur.
“The Origin Door should be right over the top of that hill,” he says, nodding to short steep incline that we tumbled down to get to my funeral. “All we have to do is go through it.”
The Mysterious Death and Life of Winnie Coleman Page 19
