Hunching over, I press my closed fists against my eyes, praying she’ll stop.
“Jade, what’s wrong?” Karen asks.
I can’t answer. Lydia’s words are echoing in my head.
Karen runs to the door and yells, “Carrie!”
I curl up in a ball, needing to scream but trying to hold it back. Having another person inside my head is maddening. Someone tries to pry my hands away from my face.
“Jade. Jade. Look at me,” my mother says.
And when I finally do, when I allow my eyes to open, the surge of energy takes over. I scream, “You can’t have her!” I scream it again and again, flailing my arms.
She grabs at me, trying to get a hold of some part of my body, and we tumble to the floor.
I’m losing. Losing control. Losing my mind. Mike and Charlie are shouting. I think they’re shouting, anyway. Their voices are muffled and getting more distant.
Lydia’s crushing me from the inside, drawing the life from every one of my cells. My skin. My heart. My legs. I’m weak.
Arms and hands grab me. I try to kick and push and shove them away, but they hold me down.
And everything goes black.
Chapter 29
As consciousness comes, a vague awareness that something bad has happened seeps into my mind. I force open my eyes, and I know immediately that I’m back at the hospital.
“How do you feel?” Mom asks dully from a chair nearby. She’s kind of folded in on herself, looking shell-shocked. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, her face devoid of makeup.
Tears spring to my eyes and start to pour out of me—hot and wet and dripping from my lashes. “I’m sorry,” I say, choking on the words.
Mom comes over to the bed. “Me too.”
Remembering what happened, I’m so ashamed. Why couldn’t I stop? What’s happening to me? “Please tell them I’m sorry,” I croak through dry lips.
“I will. They know.”
She pulls me into a hug, but when I try to raise my arms to hug her back, I can’t. I look down to see fabric bands wrapped around my wrists, attached to the bed by tethers. The thing which I have feared the most has happened. I’m being locked up. I need to figure out what to say. What can I say to make her believe me?
Mom pulls away and gives me some tissues. “I’ll go get you some food. It’s late. You must be hungry.”
I nod because I think I should be hungry, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been sedated. My senses are dulled, and my emotions are blurred. As soon as Mom’s gone, I lift my hands and examine the tethers. Seeing myself strapped to the bed, I fight back more tears. How could my life have come to this? I need a plan, but I can’t seem to get my brain to work. My mind is blocked and fuzzy, maybe from medication and maybe from Lydia.
Charlie. Where’s Charlie? My chest aches, and my stomach roils. A boy like him falls for me, and I’m possessed by a ghost and tied to a bed in the hospital. No happy-ever-after, will-you-go-to-prom-with-me-and-be-my-girlfriend-forever kind of thing. Instead, I wrestle him and his father. I need to call him. And Gram. I twist and pull at the wrist bands.
Mom returns with a tray of food and Karen. I sit up straighter and adjust myself on the bed. I’m wearing a stupid hospital gown again, and I don’t even want to imagine who undressed me this time. I still have my necklace on, though. I reach up and touch the key, pressing it against my skin for reassurance. Mom opens a little foil-topped juice container for me.
Karen pulls a chair closer. “How are you feeling?”
This question is starting to get annoying. Do they really want to know? “Drugged. What did you give me?”
“A sedative. To calm you down.”
Mom swings the tray table thing over with the food, which I think is supposed to be a grilled cheese. Unfortunately, the mushy concoction appears to have been made about five hours ago.
“Can you untie me so I can eat?” In reality, I could eat just fine because the leash part is long and gives me plenty of leeway, but I figure asking is worth a try.
“No,” Karen says.
I sigh. “I need to talk to Charlie and Gram.”
Mom’s looking seriously weary. She might cave on this. Charlie and Gram are my only hope at this point. Soon, I’ll be shipped off-island to the real funny farm with the real crazy people who wander around all day wearing pajamas and mumbling about the FBI, so I need to work quickly.
Ignoring my question, Mom asks, “Karen mentioned you talked about other ghosts, too?”
I frown at Karen because she broke her promise and shared details. Shaking my head in disgust, I reach for the juice. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t believe me.”
“Try us,” Mom says.
“You mentioned several?” Karen offers.
“Yeah, I have everything…” I’m about to say, Written down when the realization dawns on me that my journal might be my salvation. It’s still tucked away in my closet at Fair-Ever, wrapped in the same old sweatshirt inside the same old overnight bag. If my mom reads the different stories, maybe she’ll believe me. She might see that this was going on long before we got to Fair-Ever, long before Mike and Charlie and this situation with Lydia.
“I have proof,” I tell them. “I need to talk to Charlie, though. Please? I’ll talk to him right here in front of you.”
“Jade, you can’t see Charlie.” Mom sighs. Apparently, me talking about proof and seeing Charlie reinforces her crazy-as-a-bag-lady-with-a-shopping-cart image of me.
“I didn’t say see. I said talk!”
“You need to stay calm,” Karen says sternly.
I sneer at her. “Yeah, whatever. I have proof. I have a journal I’ve been keeping about all the ghosts. In detail.”
This gets their attention. They look at each other, trying to decide how to respond.
“I’ll only tell Charlie where it is. And he has to be the one to bring it here.”
“I don’t want to drag Charlie any further into this,” Mom says. “Mike is upset enough as it is.”
I scoff. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want to upset Mike. Just tie Jade to a bed and tell her to shut the hell up.”
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll go get it,” Mom says.
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t trust you.”
Mom huffs, gets up, and leaves the room. I hope she’s calling Mike to ask if Charlie can do it. I can get Charlie to call Gram later. Maybe she’ll come when she hears I’m tied to a bed.
“Why do you think you see ghosts, Jade?” Karen asks in her wise-old-therapist tone as if this is the crux of the matter. I must have some deep psychological reason for seeing ghosts because they couldn’t possibly really exist.
“Because I’m a freak,” I say, examining my wrists again, wondering how I go about undoing the tethers when no one’s looking.
“When did you see your first ghost?”
Really, what’s the point in lying anymore? “When I was ten.”
“Were your parents getting divorced then?” she asks, as if the ghosts are somehow a product of the trauma of divorce. If only.
“No. Not yet.” I pull at a Velcro piece of the wrist band.
She reaches for my arm. “Leave that alone.”
I jerk my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
Mom walks back in with her cell phone and hands it to me. “Here. It’s Charlie.”
My body surges with adrenaline. I grab the phone. “Hi.”
“Are you okay?” His voice is sort of flat, dull. He almost sounds as if he’s been drugged, too.
“No. I need you to do something for me.” I want to get this out before they change their minds and rip the phone out of my hand.
“Okay.”
I glance at Mom and Karen, then tip my head down, coveri
ng my mouth and the phone with my hands. “In my closet in the hot pink zipper bag is a sweatshirt.”
“Okay.”
“There’s a notebook inside with all the ghost stories. I need you to bring it here. Don’t give it to anyone. Don’t read it. Just bring it here.”
“Okay, I’m in your room.”
I hear him rustling around and telling Mike it’s okay. “And you need to get my phone and call my grandmother. She’ll come. I know she’ll come.”
“I got it. Is it a black composition one?”
“Yeah. That’s it. And my phone?”
“I’ll try.”
“Okay, give me the phone,” Mom says, reaching to take it from me.
I hand it over and rest my head back against the bed, closing my eyes.
Mom and Karen talk quietly by the door. I must have dozed off again, because when I open my eyes, Charlie’s standing beside my bed. Even though he’s probably freaking out and scared, like me, he still smiles sweetly, and his eyes still have that puppy dog appeal. I return his smile, despite my current situation. Mike stands with Mom and Karen, his arms folded over his chest.
Charlie holds out the composition book. “Here it is. I didn’t read it.”
I reach for it, and his eyes flick down to the tethers.
Embarrassed I take the notebook then try to hide my wrists under the blanket.
“Thanks. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do, but I want you to stay. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Yeah.” He nods, gripping the side rail on my bed so hard, his knuckles turn white.
“Mom?” I say.
“Yes?”
“Can this be me, you, and Charlie? Alone?”
She looks at Mike.
“Of course. It’s fine with me.” Mike smiles, meeting my eyes. His kindness toward me in this moment makes me feel even worse about what happened back at the house.
Karen shakes her head, but Mom waves her off and says, “Okay.”
Mike and Karen leave, shutting the door behind them, but then Karen comes back.
“Carrie, can I just have a word with you first? Outside?”
“Yes,” Mom says.
Miraculously, Charlie and I are left alone.
I hold up my arms. “Quick, look under the bed. See how they attach.”
He drops to a squat and examines the underside of the bed. “Just Velcro, I think. Way down at the bottom. And looped through.”
“Can you undo it?”
He disappears under the bed with a grunt, and I hear a ripping sound. The door to the hall opens, and Mom’s on the other side of the half-closed curtain talking to someone. Before I can hiss a warning, Charlie bounces back up, returning to his spot as if nothing has happened. He nods at me and gives me a little smile.
Mom strides back into the room and sits in the chair beside my bed. Charlie stays standing, leaning on the tray table.
“I should have told you about this a long time ago, but I’ve been too scared.” Opening the journal, I run my hand over the first page. “I started this when I was eleven, but I saw the first ghost when I was ten.” I pass the notebook to her.
The first entry is dated five years ago in my swirly, eleven-year-old cursive writing. Mom takes it and starts reading.
Charlie gives me a weak smile. “I couldn’t find your phone,” he whispers.
Mom turns the page, glancing up at me before going back to reading.
I tell Mom, “The ghost in the house is Lydia Folger Chase. We know her whole story. She… I’m afraid to tell you what happened to her because she might get mad again. But Charlie knows the whole story. He can tell you. We need to figure out how to get rid of her.”
Mom’s turning pages, skimming and glancing at me. Tears form in her eyes. “How come you never told me?” Her voice cracks.
“Because of this,” I say, holding up my hands to show her the tethers. “It’s crazy. Will you call Gram now? Please?”
Chapter 30
“I can’t believe I didn’t know,” Mom says. She rubs one of her hands over the other in a repetitive motion, her eyes fixated on something just above my head and to the right.
“It’s okay, Mom. I hid it really well.”
She looks back at me with a mix of fear and confusion. “Yes. You did. And I can tell you believe it’s true. We’re gonna get you some help, though. I promise. We’ll get this sorted out.” She’s crying now, swiping at her tears.
My stomach seizes with a wave of nausea. What the hell is she talking about?
“You don’t believe me? Still?”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay, sweetie. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be okay.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“No! You need to call Gram. She’ll help. I know she will.”
My yelling brings Mike and Karen charging back into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Mike asks. He looks as though he hasn’t slept either. His normally tidy hair resembles Charlie’s ruffled look.
“Shh. Try and stay calm,” Mom says.
I grab the journal and hand it to Charlie. “Take it. Don’t let anyone have it. And find a way to call my grandmother.”
Charlie nods, looking a bit ill, and Mike starts pulling him out of the room by his elbow. I try to grab his hand or arm to make him stay, to keep him with me, but my efforts are useless. He’s headed for the door, propelled by his father.
“Call her. You have to call her and tell her!” My voice is shrill. “Stanley and Winifred Irving! In Baltimore!” I stretch my neck to see around Karen, who’s trying to block them from view. And then he’s gone.
“That is enough, Jade!” Karen barks at me, her hands on her hips.
My mother has dissolved in tears, weeping like a child.
“How could you not believe me?” I whine, yanking and tugging at my tethers. I want to rip them off and run from the room. I’m a runner. That’s what I do when times get too tough. But this time, I can’t.
“Stop it, Jade, or I’ll call for help. Trust me, you don’t want me to do that,” Karen threatens.
This gets my mother’s attention. She must know what they do to you when they have to call for help, and she doesn’t want this to happen to me. Straitjacket? More drugs? Whatever it is, Mom snaps back to the here and now. “It’s okay, Karen. She’s okay. She’ll calm down.” Mom sniffs and blows her nose. “We’ll be all right. Just give us a minute to get ourselves together.”
I stare at her, really examining her to try to see what my options are, based on her expression. She’s not wearing the stiff, angry lines of disapproval that I dread or even the tired, overworked, single-mother demeanor that makes me feel guilty. Instead, she’s soft and somehow limp, seemingly at a loss but also oddly calm. She acts as though she’s dealing with a dying person who doesn’t know her death is near, and I realize that this is bad for me. Very, very bad.
I look over to size up Karen. My options with her are limited. She’s been against me from the start of this. Charlie’s gone and definitely won’t be allowed back after my little screaming fit. Who knows if he’ll do what I asked or if he’ll succumb to parental pressure to stay out of it? I want to believe that he’ll stand by me. Most of me thinks he will. But a smaller, more desperate part fears I’ll be abandoned, left alone, just like Lydia.
“I need to go outside and talk with Karen for a few minutes. Will you be all right?” Mom asks.
I nod solemnly.
“Are you sure?” she presses.
“Yeah,” I tell her, because agreeable is my new plan. Agreeable is going to get me the heck out of here.
I listen to the sounds of the hospital: the dull hum of fluorescent lights, the soft tapping of nurses’ clogs on linoleum, the snap of a curtain bei
ng pulled along a metal rod. My nurse, a friend of my mom’s named Lorna, has been gone for ten minutes. I told her I wanted to sleep, and I’ve avoided more drugs by being so agreeable. I’ve waited ten minutes to be sure she wouldn’t come back, then I summon up all the courage and conviction I have and slide out of bed. I shimmy and turn to try to keep the tethers untangled while I find where Charlie undid them. They are only looped through a metal strut now. All I have to do is pull the long Velcro strips on my wrists, and I’ll be free. The Velcro is amazingly noisy, but I keep going, praying no one in the hall will hear. The ripping sound seems to go on forever, and I realize they would be impossible to remove if Charlie hadn’t undone the part he did. Finally, I get both of my hands free of the straps.
Where are my clothes? I hope they’re in the bathroom in one of those personal belongings bags. But when I look, I find nothing. I pull open a cabinet near the toilet, but it only contains medical supplies. Someone passes in the hall, talking too loudly. A visitor leaving maybe, illegally using their phone in the hospital? I plaster myself against the nearest wall, as if this will help hide me in the event someone came in the room.
Once all is quiet again, I resume looking. I scan the room and realize that the next most obvious place besides the bathroom is the cabinet under the sink by the door. That’s a dangerous place to go, though, because it’s on the other side of the curtain, in view of the open door to the hall.
Like a cat burglar, I slide to the other side of the curtain and grab the cabinet handles. The doors squeak on their hinges as I pull them open, making my heart skip a beat. Luckily, the reward is worth the noise. The bag is there. I snatch it up and race to the bathroom. Yes! It contains the clothes I had on earlier. I put on my yoga capris and the Aeropostale T-shirt, but there are no shoes in the bag. I try to think back. Was I wearing them? I can’t remember, and I don’t have time to keep looking.
Right now, I need to get out of here, and I have two choices: the window or the hall. This room is on the second floor, but there might be footholds or drainpipes. I’m not afraid of heights. I slide open the window to look but see pretty quickly that escaping this way isn’t going to be an option. Smooth shingles cover the side of the building. I would have to jump to the nearest tree, and the branches look too flimsy to support me.
Ever Near (Secret Affinity Book 1) Page 15
