The Gemini Legacy
#1 The Dead Girl
Ariadne Eldritch
The Dead Girl
I knew her.
Knew her face.
A face I'd known since I was seven.
I stared at her—at Alyson Cooper—the dead girl standing in front of me.
I'd seen those green eyes before—stared at them as they'd stared back at me from behind large thick glasses in school. I knew her.
Knew her.
But it's not possible…
Fear kept me rooted to the foyer floor. I needed my feet firmly planted in reality while the rest of the world went crazy.
“I’m sorry baby, but Alyson drowned in a boating accident...”
Flashes of a memorial service held at the Savannah First Baptist Church three years ago came back to me. Closed casket—because there was no body. I remembered her mom crying—and I didn't like remembering that.
Barbara Cooper. I'd always liked her. She'd always let me stay up late and watch TV when I stayed over and my parents were out of town.
Alyson’s father had been serious—and very much absent. I always wondered if that's why they'd divorced, and Alyson had come to Savannah with her mom. If I tried I couldn't really remember her dad's face. Mr. Cooper hadn’t cried at the funeral. I couldn’t remember a single tear.
Alyson is dead…
We were thirteen, two days before our birthday.
The voice continued to bounce around in my head and I closed my eyes. It's not her, it's not her. She’s an intruder…this is just some weird home invasion you see on TV all the time…
She stood in front of me, dripping water on the foyer floor. She was soaked from head to toe—and shivering as the rain spattered the glass on either side of the front door.
I didn't know who the hell this was, or how they'd gotten in my house.
I ran from the foyer into the TV room to my right. How is she here? Why didn’t I set the alarm system?
“Olivia!”
"You leave me alone!" I pointed at her as I positioned the couch between us. The Alyson ghost stood in the doorway of the room, her left hand tucked under her right arm. I didn't know if she was protecting her hand, or hiding a weapon. She looked as if she were half-stooping. "I'm calling the cops."
"Please…Olivia. I need your help. You're the only one that can help me." She took a step further into the room. "It's me. Alyson."
"Don't you say that! You are not Alyson. Alyson Cooper is dead."
Those unforgettable eyes looked sad. And tired. Very tired. That's when I noticed she was really pale. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes.
And then I started wondering if she was a ghost. Ghosts were pale, weren't they? Not that I believed in ghosts. I knew deep down it was her. Little Alyson grown up. My best friend. We shared the same birthday, as well as the same likes and dislikes. In music, books, clothing, and even computers.
"I think I was dead…inside," she said softly and she reached out to grab the back of the couch. She looked like she was going to fall over. "For a while. Dead to everyone. Something happened today…or was it yesterday…“
I narrowed my eyes at her. She’d grown up a lot in three years. Her chubby cheeks had slimmed down to a pointed chin and her lower lip, always full, looked perfect on her face. Alyson had always had a better pout than me.
Her hair, now a deep red, hung over her eyes and water moved like small rivers from it over her nose and cheeks. She looked vulnerable.
"You can't be Alyson."
She gave me a smile. Blinding white teeth. Didn't she have braces? But in three years they would have come off, right? "It's me, Olivia. In the flesh."
"Prove it. Tell me something only Alyson would know."
She moved around the couch, cautiously and a bit slowly—kinda like my Paw-Paw Long. "Remember when we hitch-hiked to Bonaventure Cemetery? Because we were running away? We packed Ritz Crackers, squirt cheese and two Cokes."
I felt a little woozy with the memory. I'd never told anyone about the day we ran away. Mainly because—my face grew warm remembering that afternoon. "Something—happened that day. Do you remember it?"
If she did remember it—then it was her—because I never told another soul about it. I was too embarrassed.
She took another step closer. "We went skinny-dipping…in the Savannah River.”
My jaw dropped.
She took several more steps around the couch. She was only a few inches away. "It's really me.”
I couldn't stop myself. I grabbed her—but she was already pulling me into her arms. She held on to me tightly and I found myself hugging her tighter than I could remember ever holding her before. It was as if I could finally give her the hug I wasn't able to give her when I thought she was gone.
She was wet, cold and shivering, but she was solid, and real.
And she smelled of coconuts and crayons. "Oh God, Olivia…" she said as she pressed her face into the crook of my neck. "I thought I'd never see you again. Once I remembered you—"
Someone pounded hard at the door.
Alyson moved back, nearly falling over the couch. Her absence in my arms left me a little unsteady on my feet. I was damp where she’d held me.
I frowned at the banging. Who on Earth? Couldn't be my parents—they weren't supposed to be back till midnight. And besides—they wouldn't knock.
"Miss Long?" came a deep, baritone voice from behind the front door. "It's the police—are you all right?"
All right? I took several more deep breaths. Of course I'm not all right. My best friend just came back from the dead tonight. Wait…why are the police here? Did I actually set the alarm?
"Olivia," Alyson whispered and put her finger to her lips. Her hands were shaking.
I wasn't sure why she looked upset and a bit panicked. That's when I noticed her clothes weren't just wet, but dirty. Her white shirt was torn in places as if she’d been running through briar bushes. Her shoes were covered in mud. There was something spattered all over that shirt—I hoped it was mud. But it looked a lot like blood.
And there was a lot of it. It covered the front of her shirt, her collar, the cuff of her right sleeve and on her right hand.
I don't know why I looked down—but when I did—I noticed her muddy footprints. I followed them around the couch where I'd seen her walk, back to the foyer. I stood in the arch between the two rooms and looked at the prints. They stopped at the front door but they weren’t on the rug in front of the door. I hadn't opened the front door for Alyson. I'd heard something in the foyer, and got up from watching TV to go see. When I didn't see anything I'd turned, and she’d been there. Right in front of me.
"Alyson—where did you come from? How'd you get in the house—"
Pound, pound, pound. "Miss Long?"
“You can’t let them in here,” Alyson said in that whisper. “They’re looking for me.”
I looked back at the TV room.
The room had originally been the sun-room, but mom didn't want a television in the living room so into the sun-room it went. That way she could entertain and actually talk to her guests. Not the television. So the sun room became the TV room and the focal point of the house.
Mom hated TV. Rarely watched it. The TV was dad's pride and joy—and something mom couldn't talk him out of. No, that was dad's movie-watching TV. And no one liked movies as much as Daniel Long.
I looked back at Alyson. “Why would they be looking for you?”
“They’re not real cops.”
Eh? Not real? I shook my head. “You just stay here. I'll get rid of them."
“I’m not lying, Oli. They’re not real Savann
ah cops.”
I frowned at her. "Don't be silly—and don't look so stressed. I'm the one with the dead girl in the house. It'll be fine."
Alyson looked less than assured. And I couldn't blame her. No matter how metropolitan people liked to think Savannah was—it wasn't. Not really. It was and would always be—
Small town.
Where everyone knew everyone else's business and everyone knew your name.
Ugh.
"Coming," I shuffled my fuzzy slippers to the front door. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of the antique coat rack. I liked to think of myself as fairly attractive, but having Olivia and her beauty in front of me made me remember how I’d always thought she was the prettier one. So many people had thought we were sisters, maybe even fraternal twins. But we weren’t. Just good friends who shared the same birthday, even down to the minute of our birth.
Wet, and possibly covered in blood, Alyson looked stunning. Me? I looked more like sleepy bum. I still had on my jeans and sweat-shirt from school and my hair needed a quick comb.
"Olivia—"
Pound, pound, pound.
I turned to see Alyson in the doorway from the TV room. "If you don't want them to see you, just stay in there. I don't need the rumor engine running either. My parents will ground me for life if they find out I had guests in the house and they weren't home—and I somehow doubt the fact it was a formerly dead guest would carry much weight in my favor. The truth of a guest will snowball into Oli was throwing a party.”
I snuck a peek through the beveled glass framing the door. Two men in police uniforms and jackets stood outside. Rain glistened under the porch lights behind them as it came down on the steps. The wind was swinging the hanging light back and forth. The pansies and begonias in the side terra cotta pots were flipping petals all over the place.
A quick turn of the knob and the wind blew in through the crack. The chain held the door a few inches from the frame as it strained against the storm.
Wind and cold. And cops.
"What's wrong?"
The taller one—skinnier with a longish face—removed his hat as he spoke. "Please, Miss Long. I'm Officer Taggart. This is Officer Barnes. We just need to check your house."
"Check my house? Why?"
"One of your neighbors called and said they'd seen someone hanging around just outside of your window looking in. Described them as a young woman. We'd like to come in and check things out for you." He gave me a nice smile. "We called your dad and he said we could do a quick look-through."
Great.
Even while he was away he was watching me. I was also pretty sure if I didn't let them in they'd call my dad and let him know. I was trying to formulate a reason as to why I had a wet girl in dirty clothes in the house when I closed the door, moved the latch and opened it again for the two of them to come inside.
Taggart gave me a wince that might have passed for a smile when he saw the mud all over the floor. "Might want to be a bit more careful about that mud.”
More careful? About mud? Hell…wait till they see Alyson.
Officer Barnes nodded at me as he came in and shut the door. He had a serious look on his face. "Have you noticed anyone outside?"
"Well—" I said as Taggart made his way into the TV room. I waited for the "Who is this?" when he spotted Alyson—and then the inevitable confrontation.
I moved to the room's door just in case I had to make introductions—but my newly undead friend wasn't there.
The TV room and kitchen were part of the same compartment—the two separated by a counter and bar-stools and the door to the back yard. Taggart went to the door and peered outside before he turned to me. "Is it okay if I check upstairs?"
"Sure."
I watched as he moved quickly back to the foyer and listened to him move around upstairs. Apparently Alyson wasn't up there either because the officer was back downstairs within a few minutes.
"Barnes—everything looks good," he said as he paused in the foyer.
I came out of the TV room after Barnes and the two of them made their way to the door, avoiding the muddy prints tracked all over mom's once pristine tile. Taggart looked at the muddy prints again. "Miss Long—did you make these?"
"Oh. Yeah. I'd just put my shoes in the washing machine when you guys came in." I gave them both a pitiful look. "I need to get this cleaned up."
"Okay. Sorry to bother you—but keep the doors locked and set the security system, okay?"
I nodded and held the door for them as they left. Once they were gone I threw the dead bolt, yanked open the security system panel and punched in the key. There—that made me feel at little bit better.
I called out for Alyson.
She didn't answer.
Where was she? Oh great—had I imagined her? Was I going crazy? Being here alone in this house, in the middle of a storm, on a Friday night?
But as I turned to go back into the TV room the air in front of me shimmered. Alyson appeared—but she wasn't completely solid. In fact—I could see the couch and TV through her.
And then she was there, solid, standing in front of me.
Wetter than before—as if she'd just come back in from the rain.
"How—"
She smiled at me. "It's raining outside. I got really wet this time.”
I nodded. "You—were outside?"
Alyson nodded.
I stared at her as she dripped water on the carpet. “You just…appeared out of nowhere.”
She nodded again.
I stepped back and pointed at her. “You are a ghost!”
Super Powers
I don't believe in ghosts.
Though I do like scary movies. As long as I'm not in them. I tend to watch them through my fingers though. Jinki—my best friend after Alyson died—she could watch horror movies, slashers, all of them, without batting an eye.
Not me. I watched them for the cute guys.
But I'd always had a problem with the heroines in those films. They always seemed to not notice the creepy stuff till it's too late.
Well—that wasn't me. Something weird was happening. Besides the fact my dead best friend had turned up again, she'd done it in a way that wasn't possible. I mean—she wasn't in the foyer and then she was—and then she wasn't in the TV room and then she was.
And I'd seen her fade in. What my eyes told me wasn't what my mind told me. There didn't seem to be any other explanation. Alyson was a ghost. How else was she able to disappear and reappear like that?
God, I wished Jinki were here. Best friends always knew what to say. And what to do. Especially with old best friends.
Alyson looked sad as she looked at my finger, and then looked at me. Her shoulders sagged and she slowly moved to the side and started around me. I pivoted, my finger held out like a weapon, and followed her as she shuffled to the foyer. She looked through one of the panels by the front door. “They’re parked outside the house.”
“Who?” I went to the other panel looked out. She was right. It was hard to see through the rain, but there was a blue car—not a police car—sitting right in front of the house. I couldn’t tell if it was Taggart and Barnes, though. “Why aren’t they in a police car? That might not even be them.”
“Then wouldn’t that be creepier?” She looked at me, and I looked at her. She was right. “I told you, they’re not real cops. And they’re looking for me.”
I stepped back. “Then you need to tell me what in the hell is going on, Aly.”
“No sweat, Oli,” she said, and then we smiled and made nervous laughter.
Not sure what else to do, and with a car parked outside, apparently watching the front door, I walked into the kitchen and Alyson followed me. I poured us some cold seet tea and we sat on the couch, a full cushion between us. It felt like years separated us. I started the conversation, insisting she explain things to me. Alyson wanted to leave. And she wanted me to leave with her. “First, are you a ghost?”
She watched
me. "Do I look like a ghost to you?"
"Well, you look like hell. I mean, you're all pasty white. Your clothes are dirty. And to be honest, that looks like blood.”
"I'm alive. I didn't drown that day."
"Then why the funeral? Why the lie?"
"It was my dad's idea," she said. "Oli—I've got a lot to tell you—and I'm not sure you're going to believe it all. And I think we should do it somewhere else.”
"Alyson—until an hour ago I thought you died three years ago. And somehow you appeared in my house like a genie, disappeared again when the cops came, and then I saw you reappear right there,” I pointed to the floor. "Why did you and your parents lie if you were alive? What the hell is going on?" I narrowed my eyes. "What the hell are you? Why is there blood on your shirt? Did you have a nosebleed? Did you know there was blood on your skin too—well, before the rain washed most of it off just now? What have you gotten into? Is it toxic waste? Some government science experiment? Cause you're not going to convince me that I didn't see you fade in like some special effect in a movie. That’s not normal."
She sat very still. Her cheeks were sunken in and her eyes were red-rimmed. Her hair was still damp and lay flat against her head. Drowned puppy came to mind.
Finally, "Olivia…I'm a legacy. We, are legacies.”
I arched my eyebrows. "We?"
She swallowed. "There are more of us. So far we've discovered five, including me. All of us, possessing different abilities. Mine—well you've seen mine. I'm classified as Gemini.”
I kept quiet that time—not really sure how to react to this.
“To put it simply, I’m part of a group of people who have irregular talents."
“And…the not-cops outside are after you because you can fade in and out? Because you’re this legacy thing?”
She hesitated. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.” She ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers were still stained. “Ever heard about people who can control elements, move objects with their minds, or even pop in and out of places?"
"Well…no. Not unless it’s in a superhero movie, or on TV.”
The Dead Girl (The Gemini Legacy Book 1) Page 1
