by Apryl Baker
Mr. Burnette’s seven-year-old granddaughter, Kayla, went missing a few days ago. She’s the latest in a long line of children who went missing in the Charlotte area. Those kids turned up dead a week after they disappeared. We suspect they are victims of Deleriel. If he has Kayla, God only knows the horrors that poor little girl is going through.
“Come on, Mattie.” Mary tugs at my arm, snapping my attention back to her. “It’s time to go.”
Dan’s father is driving us. He’s wearing a nice black suit, and Dan is sitting in the front seat, staring straight ahead, his face as empty as a barren wasteland. Mary and I pile in the back seat, and we head to the cemetery without a word. No one is in the mood to talk.
The drive to Old Settlers’ Cemetery in Charlotte flies by. Before I know it, Mr. Richards is parking the car and getting out. Dan and I sit there, even after Mary’s gotten out. Neither of us is ready for this. He’s still staring straight ahead, silent, and I’m worried about him. He hasn’t even processed his grief. There’s been no time, what with Kayla missing. Dan’s thrown himself into finding her. He has whiteboards set up at Zeke’s. He’s very good at what he does, but if his captain finds out, he might lose his job. She’s still pissed at him for poking his nose in the case that ended up with Meg being shot and killed.
“We have to get out, you know,” I say softly.
“I know.”
After a full minute, I prod him again. “Dan.”
“I know!” The words come out in an explosion, one I didn’t expect, but fully understand. He takes a deep breath. “I know.”
His dad knocks on the window, and I shake my head at him. Despite what I said, we’ll sit here for as long as Dan needs to. Mr. Richards frowns, clearly concerned about his son, but he walks away. Dan needs a minute or ten to get out of the car.
“I don’t know if I can do it.” His voice is hollow, empty. “How can I face her father? I was right there. I could have stopped it somehow…”
“No, Dan, you couldn’t have stopped it.” I will not let him blame himself. I am the only one who should shoulder this blame. “You weren’t even there when he took us. You couldn’t have stopped it.”
“If I had died, she would have been safe, like the angel said. She’d have been home grieving.”
“Yeah, that’s true enough, but you’re forgetting one thing, Dan.” I lean forward, my lips by his ear. “Paul was obsessed with her. That was no one’s fault. Stalkers, especially the psychotic ones, they don’t stop. He would have taken her eventually, and her death would have been messy, full of humiliation and pain. You remember what he did to those other girls. They were practice runs for him. Can you imagine everything she would have suffered? Yes, the angel was right in that she died because you lived, but he didn’t say anything about the type of death she would have suffered if you had died. You saved her from that, Dan.”
It was something I’d thought a lot about. Yes, we had bucked fate and caused all sorts of problems when I refused to let Dan die and he chose to stay for me, but no one even considered the good things that decision might bring about. Meg’s death was quick. If she’d been kidnapped by Paul and held hostage? Another story altogether. That’s what I choose to believe. I only hope Dan can do the same. He needs to so he doesn’t blame himself anymore. I hate what it’s doing to him.
“Do you really believe that?” His words are halted, unsteady.
“Yeah, Officer Dan, I really believe that. You saved her from a fate worse than the death she received. I believe she’d thank you for sparing her that.”
His bows his head and a shudder goes through him. “I just want her to know how sorry I am. That I didn’t mean for her to die.”
“She knows, Dan.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m the Ghost Girl, remember?” I try for a joke, but it falls flat. “Trust me, if she blamed either of us, her ghost would be here, blistering us both with that vengeful tongue of hers. The girl could hold a grudge like nobody’s business. That’s not the case, though. She’s not here because her soul crossed over. She had no unfinished business. She’s at peace, so let her memory stay at peace. She loved you, and that’s all you need to hold on to.”
A sigh so deep it could hold the sorrows of every broken heart ripples through him. His hand reaches back for mine, and I take it. He holds it so tight it hurts, but I only grip it back. “Thank you, Squirt.”
“You’re welcome, Officer Dan.”
“I think I’m ready to go now.”
He lets go of my hand, and we get out of the car. Dan takes my hand again and we walk over to where Mary and his father stand waiting. He holds onto me like a lifeline. This is what we do. When one of us hurts, the other is there, ready to help ease the pain. It’s what we’ll always do.
The cemetery is old, dating as far back as 1776, and it’s smack in the middle of the city. It’s one of the few places I’ve never visited. Ghosts tend to hang around cemeteries, and I refuse to go anywhere I might get overwhelmed.
Except today. Because it’s for Megan. And Dan needs me.
As soon as we step on the path leading into the maze of gravestones, I hear them. They batter at me like the wind does a shutter during a storm, a constant banging inside my head. Thanks to that tattoo Caleb had given me in New Orleans, they can’t overwhelm me anymore. In fact, they are muted, but there are so many it doesn’t matter. It’s like a pressure swelling inside my head. I blink and keep my attention focused on the ground beneath me, putting one foot in front of the other.
The warm summer day turns colder as the dead press in, surrounding us. Several people shiver, but they don’t pay attention. They can’t see what I see. There are Civil War era soldiers lounging against headstones, their wounds evident and glaring. Others are ghosts who died of natural causes, and some are horrific, having suffered gruesome deaths. They are from all walks of life, from every era of history that marks the myriad of headstones on these hallowed grounds.
These ghosts are harmless. Sad, lonely—lost, even—but harmless. It’s the ones crowded around outside the gates that have me unnerved. There is a malignancy there, a darkness that surrounds them. These are the dangerous ones, the ones who are as vicious in death as they were in life, and others who went mad from being here too long and letting their anger at being dead fester within them.
We follow Mary and Mr. Richards to some empty seats and sit. Mr. Johnson, Meg’s dad and the current mayor of Charlotte, sits in the front row, staring blankly at his daughter’s coffin. We’re on the opposite side, near the front, so I have a clear view of him. Part of me wants to go over and say something. He was always so nice to me. The other part of me is saying to stay as far away from him as I can. I’m probably the last person he wants to see. I lived, and his daughter died. How can I look him in the eyes? How can he not blame me for that?
The minister starts the service, and I tune it out, the ghosts pressing in tighter, trying to force me to talk to them. They know I can hear them. Ghosts are the worst gossips, and they’ve spread the word about my abilities. Most times it’s easy to ignore them, but when I’m surrounded by a small horde of them, it’s harder. They are intent on getting my attention, and their cries pound into my head like a jackhammer. The pain is so intense it’s almost debilitating.
One gets right in my face, his green eyes penetrating. He’d been in some kind of accident when he died. I can see the seatbelt bruise clearly across his shirtless chest. His stomach has a large, black bruise covering most of his lower abdomen. Aside from some cuts and scrapes on his face, he looks unharmed. Internal bleeding. Has to be.
Ignore him and he’ll go away. I chant this over and over and focus instead on the minister. He’s tall, skinny, maybe in his sixties. I squint, trying to pay attention to him and not the guy shouting obscenities at me no one else can hear. That’s when I notice this haze around him. It’s dark, like a cloud obscuring everything else. I tilt my head, studying it. Cancer. He has cancer. Maybe
six months left because he doesn’t know he has it.
Wait…what the heck? I know he has cancer and exactly six more months to live. Exactly. Fudgepops. I shouldn’t know that, but I do. Why do I know that?
Someone waves at me from behind the minister, and to my shock, it’s Reaper Boy. The one who tried to take Dan from me and later helped me navigate the Between, the realm separating this life and the next. It’s chock full of nasty beasties waiting to gobble up lost souls.
He crooks his finger at me and motions for me to join him. I shake my head. Not in the middle of Meg’s funeral. I will not let ghosty things make me disturb the service and further upset Dan or Mr. Johnson.
My hands clench when a burst of pain knifes through my head, drawing out a whimper. I bite my lip and glance at Dan, who doesn’t seem to have heard. He’s staring at Meg’s coffin, his eyes almost frigid. Odd. He seems more angry than sad.
Mary leans over, her head nearly against mine. “I hear them too.”
I jerk my head around, my eyes wide. “Does it hurt?”
She shakes her head. “It’s more like a loud buzz, or white noise. Annoying, but it doesn’t hurt.”
Mary garnered the ability to hear ghosts after she spent so much time on the ghost plane last year. She’d been kidnapped by my then foster mother and tortured for weeks. Her soul traveled to me, and with Dan’s help, we were able to save her. I ended up one of Mrs. Olson’s victims in the process. Surviving that ordeal is one of the things we share, one of the things that makes us family now.
The crowd standing pulls my attention back to the service. It’s time to throw the flowers in the grave. Long-stemmed white roses. Meg loved them more than any other flower. We’d been handed one on our way to our seats earlier. I look at the one I have clutched in my hand, the thorns biting into my skin. It’s not until I see the blood seeping down my palm that I feel the pain. Hissing, I relax my hand. Several of them had pierced my skin, and there is blood everywhere. Dang it.
I grit my teeth and stand, filing along behind the other people. This has never made sense to me. What purpose do flowers in a grave serve? Meg’s ghost isn’t even here to see it. It’s a pointless tradition.
Not so pointless if you understand the why of it.
I stumble at the words. I glance to the side and see one of the Civil War soldiers walking along beside me. His golden hair is matted with blood near the back, and a gaping hole is torn clean through his shoulder, the cloth of his gray uniform jacket blackened around the edges where the bullet went in. A Confederate soldier.
You can hear me? I keep the conversation quiet. Now is not the time to be talking to myself out loud.
Yes, ma’am. His chuckle vibrates along my self-consciousness.
Is there something you need?
No, ma’am, but I suspect you need me.
What? Why would you think that?
You are here to mourn, and you should be able to do that in peace.
I realize the ghosts have gone quiet. Not even a whisper. I still see the grouchy one who’d been all up in my face, but he’s at a respectful distance. When had that happened? This soldier chased them away. I stare up at him, shocked, but appreciative.
Thank you.
He nods and keeps walking beside me as we get closer to the open grave. They’ve already lowered her into the ground. I can’t slow down, or I would. I don’t want to see it. To see her down there in the earth. I know it’s just a shell, but I can’t shake this awful feeling. She hated cold, dark places. It doesn’t seem right to put her body there.
When I step up and look down, my breath catches. The silver coffin sits at the bottom, several dozen flowers already littering the top and the ground around it. This isn’t right. A tear rolls down my cheek. It isn’t right. I close my eyes, and a vision of her laughing blue eyes greets me. She should be here, torturing me with trips to the mall. None of this is fair.
A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I blink. Mr. Johnson is standing beside me, his blue eyes wide with grief and pain, but not angry. His arm slides around my shoulder, and he pulls me into a hug.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Johnson.”
“Megan loved you like her own sister, Mattie.” His words are heavy, his voice wrought with a cascade of tears. “She was so happy when she came home and told me the two of you were friends again. I’ve never seen her that happy.”
“I…”
“You blame yourself for her death.” His arm tightens around me. “I can see it in your face, but, Mattie, it wasn’t your fault. The blame lies with a very disturbed young man.”
Paul Owens was definitely a disturbed young man. The younger brother of my ex-boyfriend, Jake, Paul was obsessed with Meg, as well as having an unhealthy need to hurt and kill women. He’d killed his brother that night. While Jake’s soul had gone on, his body remained alive. I’d been able to put Eric’s soul in his body, giving the Owens family back one son, while giving my ghost friend another chance at a life stolen from him.
“I’m sorry too, Mr. Johnson.” Dan appears in front of us. “I wish I could have done something, gotten there sooner…”
“None of that.” Mr. Johnson cuts him off. “You shouldn’t even have been out of the hospital, young man. What you did was more than enough. You tried to save her, and that’s all that counts. Neither of you is responsible for her death. I want you to go on with your lives, be happy for her. It’s what she would have wanted.”
He gives me another hug and shakes Dan’s hand. Mr. Richards pushes us along. We’re holding up the line. I toss the rose into the grave and let him herd us away from the gravesite. My mind is still reeling. I would have wagered everything I own on the fact Meg’s dad blamed us for her death. But he doesn’t. How is that possible?
“I need a minute.” I stop walking when we’re away from the others, but not outside the gates. There’s someone I need to speak with. “I…I need a minute by myself, okay?”
Dan’s eyes zero in on me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Well, if you count Reaper Boy as nothing. He’s patiently waiting down by this big, ancient-looking crypt. “I just need a minute, okay?”
“I’ll wait for her, Dad. You and Mary go on to the car.” He waits for them to leave then turns to me. “Spill.”
Dan’s not buying my story for a hot minute. I can see it in his eyes.
“I need to talk to the reaper before we leave.” My hand automatically comes up and covers my mouth. I hadn’t meant to tell him that. I never could lie to him, though. It’s those big old puppy dog eyes of him.
His face pales. “Reaper?”
It’s why I hadn’t wanted to tell him. He’d just survived a reaping, barely. If it hadn’t been for Silas hiding him, I’m not sure I could have saved him from death.
“What’s he want?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“Is it safe?” His gaze sweeps the cemetery, but he can’t see him. He doesn’t need to know it’s the same reaper who came for him the first time. It would only upset him.
“Yeah, he’s the one who saved me from the little soulless monster in the morgue. He’s not going to hurt me. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
His eyes narrow, but he nods. “Want me to come with?”
“No.” Absolutely not. No sense in tempting fate. Especially around a reaper who should have reaped Dan’s soul to begin with. “I won’t be long. Just stay here.”
I’ll guard him, ma’am.
I nod to the soldier, thankful. I don’t think any of the ghosts here within the gates are vengeful, but you never know.
I pick my way down the hill carefully. I’m only wearing two-inch heels, but I’m clumsy, and falling down a hill is not on my to-do list for today.
“Took you long enough.” He’s grouchy. Not my problem.
“I was at a funeral, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I don’t like graveyards.” He’s also nervous. Why hadn’t I noticed?
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you like graveyards?” Seriously, he’s a reaper. Graveyards should be his favorite spot.
“They’re unnerving.”
“Isn’t this like a smorgasbord to a reaper?” I wave at the souls waiting to descend upon me the minute the soldier removes his protection.
“No, Mattie, graveyards are unnatural.” He shifts from foot to foot, his fingers twitching.
“Unnatural?”
“It’s not only the souls of the dead that reside here, little reaper.” He flashes me a smile, but his eyes are dark, full of an alien fear I don’t understand.
“What did you want?” If he’s afraid of this place, I’m not going to stand here all day. I’m out.
“I sensed your unease. Something to do with your reaping ability. Remember I am assigned to guide you. When something new happens, I know it. What did you experience?”
“The minister.” That has to be what he’s talking about. I explain what happened earlier, and he nods slowly.
“What you saw was a death knell. A shroud, if you will, but you shouldn’t have been able to see it.”
I tilt my head, but he answers the question before I can ask it.
“That is the ability of a full-blown reaper. One who has died and assumed their responsibilities. You’re a living reaper. Your job is only to assist in convincing the lost in crossing over. It’s an amazing feat that you can even open the doorway that leads to the hall where we navigate them through the Between. You shouldn’t be able to do it. There’s not a living reaper in our known history who had that ability.”
I have no idea how to respond to that.
“No wonder they wanted a guide assigned to you,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t be able to do even a tenth of what you can. Your abilities are growing at an alarming rate.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
He throws his hands up, frustrated. “I don’t know.”
The crypt door behind us creaks, and we both freeze.
