Whispers From the Grave

by Leslie Rule

  “Hang on, Rita!” I whispered, frantic to get to her.

  One place in that house was certain to have the right clothes. Rita’s room!

  I hid my visor behind the old trunk in the corner, slowly opened the attic door, and peeked into the hallway below. The house was still, as if holding its breath, waiting for the family to return. The cat leapt from the box, startling me as he brushed between my ankles. He looked back at me once, green eyes blinking drowsily, and bounded down the stairs.

  I half expected to find Rita stretched out on her bed, listening to music and scribbling in her diary. But the room was empty. My antique maple dresser sat between the windows, and Rita’s unmade bed was parked against the wall in the same exact place as mine. That’s where the decorating resemblance ended.

  Rita’s walls were blue and covered with posters of long-haired young men clutching guitars, waifs with gigantic dark eyes, and a cartoon man with a big nose and huge brown shoes with a balloon coming from his mouth that said, “Keep on Truckin’.”

  A square of shaggy green carpet covered the floor, and a boxy record player sat in the corner. Ignoring the clothes heaped on Rita’s bed, I headed for her closet. Wire hangers jingled tunelessly as I reached into the depths of the closet, searching for something Rita rarely wore and might not recognize. I found it at the back of the closet—a pale yellow button-up sweater she'd apparently outgrown. It fit me snugly but would have to do. A pair of Rita’s jeans and sneakers completed my outfit.

  Three breathless minutes later, I was racing down the dirt path. Nearly a hundred teenagers swarmed the beach, but I spotted Benjamin Grand instantly. He stood by a big silver keg that was perched on a log. I slipped up behind him, watching as he opened the tap and filled his cup. The beer flowed too fast and his cup foamed over. He tipped it, drinking greedily, ignoring the fact he’d left the tap open.

  “Hey, Grand!” a frizzy-haired guy shouted. “Watch what you’re doing! You’re wasting beer!”

  Someone turned off the tap, as an oblivious Ben swayed unsteadily and stared toward the water through glassy red eyes.

  “Grand’s wasted,” someone said and chortled.

  He was out of it. Really drunk. Drunk enough to kill?

  I wasn’t taking any chances with my sister's life. I had to get Ben as far away from Rita’s house as possible.

  “Hi, Ben,” I gushed, touching his elbow and smiling flirtatiously. I’d never taken acting classes and hadn’t had much practice lying, but I managed to slather it on pretty thick. “You probably don’t remember me, but we met at a party last summer,” I said.

  “What’s your name?” he slurred and tried to fix his watery blue eyes on me.

  “I’m Kathy.” I forced a lighthearted giggle. “A friend of mine wants to ask you something. She’s waiting down the beach.”

  “Tell her to come join the party.”

  “She broke her leg and is in a cast.” I looped my arm in his. “She can’t walk very well, Ben. She really needs to talk to you.”

  Obediently, he fell into step beside me and we headed south along the shore. I hadn’t allowed myself to contemplate the consequences of enticing a killer down a deserted stretch of beach. Perhaps if I’d considered my own safety, I would have found another strategy. But my mind was still whirling from that impossible trip through time.

  The sun slid toward the faraway islands as we trudged along the shore. The last rays of the day burned the sky in a brilliant orange light that seemed to set the clouds on fire.

  I paused, marveling at the incredible fact I could stand there and enjoy the beauty of a sunset that had graced the sky nearly a century before I was born.

  “So where’s your friend?” Ben asked. He tossed the empty cup in the waves and pulled a fresh can of beer from the pocket of his jean jacket.

  “It’s not far now,” I said quickly.

  We’d rounded the bend and the party sounds had faded. I was alone with a killer. Would anyone hear me if I screamed?

  “What did you say your name was?” Ben asked.

  “Karen,” I said, realizing too late I’d told him Kathy before. He didn’t notice.

  “You do look familiar.”

  If he hadn’t been so loaded, he surely would have known why, I looked just like his girlfriend—except for my blond wig.

  Ben’s long stride lacked coordination as he lurched along beside me, occasionally stepping into the water. The alcohol had made him clumsy, but he was still strong. His huge hand closed menacingly around the empty beer can, crumpling it into a tight little ball.

  I shuddered and skipped a few steps ahead. We’d traveled about a quarter of a mile down the beach and

  I wasn’t sure what to do next. My only plan had been to lead Ben away from Rita’s territory. What would he do if he discovered my lie?

  I suspected he’d be angry. I knew Benjamin Grand got violent when he was angry. The shrill breathlessness of my own voice surprised me as I said, “My friend is around here someplace!”

  Ben pulled another can from his pocket. He took a long swallow and pointed at me, sputtering angrily, “You, you—”

  He sat down hard on the wet sand, unable to finish his thought. “Lemme sleep,” he said and lay down, closing his eyes. He didn’t even flinch as cold waves splashed against his face, soaking his hair and leaving a trail of foam across his chin. The tide was rushing in. Within minutes it would rise to cover his face and drown him. He won’t be able to hurt my sister!

  Problem solved.

  So simple.

  Yet I could not walk away. If I let him die, I would be a murderer. And as much as I hated Ben, I was not a murderer. There had to be another way to save my sister.

  I strained my back dragging him to safety. I left him facedown, behind a log on dry sand where the water would not reach him.

  I stood and stretched and recognized the land where Suki’s house sat in the year 2070. The hollowed-out space in the bank—where the Grady house would one day fit so snugly—was covered with sweet peas, the same purple wildflowers I had picked for the vase on our kitchen table.

  It was a shock seeing Suki’s house gone. I could not get used to the idea I’d actually traveled back in time. Yet I had. And I hastily reminded myself of the reason.

  The sun had set, and the cliffs above cast cold, black shadows as I tucked my sunglasses into my back pocket and hurried back toward the party. I would find Rita and warn her! Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. I slowed down to ponder what I would say to her. I couldn’t very well march up and announce, “I’m your sister who was born a hundred years in the future. I’ve traveled back in time to warn you your boyfriend is going to kill you.”

  She’d think I had brain-drag. There had to be another way to break them up.

  Lost in thought, I rounded the corner. My mouth fell open as a figure came charging at me, her long brown hair flying wildly around her face.

  Rita!

  “Hey, chick! Where’s Ben?” she demanded, her breath reeking of beer.

  The moment was so familiar, I felt I’d lived it before. Suddenly I knew why. I’d read about it in her diary.

  Was I the blonde she’d written about?

  No! It’s impossible! My mind whirled. / couldn’t have been here before.

  “Where’s Ben?” Rita shouted.

  “What’s it to you?” I said. It was as if I were speaking the lines in a script. The words spilled from me, exactly as she had described in her diary.

  I ducked my head, hiding my face, not ready for her to recognize me. She grabbed my arm. Her fingers dug painfully into my flesh.

  No! She doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m trying to hurt her. But it is Ben who will hurt her.

  How could I make her understand? “Ben doesn’t care about you!” I cried.

  The word floated between us.

  A warning.

  From sister to sister.

  Rita did not interpret it that way. Her hand came up, full force against my
cheek. It was a cracking blow. I reeled, my head spinning, too shocked to speak.

  A circle of teenagers closed in on us. The guys jeered, urging Rita to smack me again. The girls squealed and whispered to each other. I turned and bolted toward the bushes, scrambling for a place to hide from the curious stares. Then it hit me.

  This was not the past. This was the future. My future! It might be 1970, but the plot unfolding was new to me. In Rita’s diary the blonde ran for the bushes and was never seen again.

  But that blonde wasn’t just any blonde. It was me in my wig. I had just unwittingly reenacted a scene from Rita’s diary so perfectly there could be no mistake. I had been here before. This was my past. Yet it was also my future. And my fate was in those bushes!

  I skidded to a stop and stared into the dark, brambly bushes clinging to the bank. My heart pounded. If I went in there now, did it mean no one would ever see me again?

  Rita had written in her diary that “Tight Sweater” disappeared. She figured the blonde had gone back to where she’d come from. But I knew it couldn’t be.

  Something must have happened to me last time I was here. I wouldn’t have gotten back in my time machine with my tail between my legs and headed for home. I’d never give up so easily. I was here to save my sister, and a slap on the face was not going to stop me. What had stopped me before?

  An icy prickle of fear crept up my neck. Something far more sinister than a slap had prevented me from saving Rita.

  Maybe I was murdered too. Perhaps Ben hadn’t really passed out. Maybe he had followed me, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

  Was he lurking in the bushes now?

  I’d botched things last time. I wasn’t going to mess up again. My sister’s life—and perhaps my own—depended on my strategy. I darted away from the bank, raced through the crowd, and headed to the water’s edge.

  Cold waves lapped at my feet, soaking my tennis shoes.

  There! I’d done it. I did not hide in the bushes as Rita had written in her diary.

  A wonderful feeling of power rushed through me like a current of electricity. I was in charge of my destiny. Things did not have to fall into place exactly as they had before.

  I had been here only forty minutes, and I’d already changed the past.

  17

  "Are you okay?” someone asked, and I glanced up at the most beautiful face I’d ever seen.

  I’d been standing by the water’s edge nearly ten minutes, wondering what to do next. It was dark now and the party was over. A round white moon peeked over Windy Cliff, lighting the face of the gorgeous guy who’d popped up beside me. “I’m Shane,” he said, his full, sexy lips curving into an irresistible smile.

  Mesmerized, I took in his liquid brown eyes, strong dimpled jaw, and lion’s mane hair—wild gold locks spilling over wide shoulders.

  “Shane Murdock!” I cried. Ben’s best friend!

  “You’ve heard of me?” he said, laughing. “Whatever you’ve heard, it isn’t true.”

  He was right! Rita had written that he wasn’t as attractive as Ben. For sisters, we certainly had different taste in boys!

  Shane was short, perhaps an inch or two taller than my 5'6" height. He was solidly built and his tight T-shirt emphasized his muscular chest. My gaze swept his body, over faded jeans hugging narrow hips and down to his bare feet.

  “Rita slugged you pretty hard,” he said. “I guess she’s jealous of you and Ben.”

  “She doesn’t need to be,” I said quickly. “I’m not interested in him.”

  “Rita’s not used to drinking. She’s usually pretty mellow.”

  “Did you see which way she went?” I asked.

  “She left with April. Went home, I guess.”

  “Good.” She was probably throwing up in her front yard right about now. In a minute, our mother would come outside, catch her, and put her on restrictions.

  “So what happened to Ben?” Shane asked.

  “He passed out.”

  He shook his head in amusement. “That sounds like Ben, I better make sure he’s okay. Want to show me where he is?”

  I was here for only one reason—to save my sister. Yet a walk in the moonlight with Shane sounded very appealing.

  I hesitated, ashamed. My sister’s life was at stake. How could I be so easily distracted?

  But this was research. Shane could, after all, tell me something important about Rita and Ben that could help me break them up. I gestured toward the strip of land curving out to the sea and said, “Ben’s way down there around the bend.”

  “I’m always dragging him home from somewhere,” said Shane, falling into step beside me. “It keeps me in shape.”

  The tide was nearly in now, and the beach was just a thin stretch of rocky shore littered with logs and dried-out seaweed.

  “Don’t the barnacles hurt your feet?” I asked.

  “I go barefoot so often the soles of my feet are like leather.”

  Agile as a cat, Shane moved along the beach, lightly leaping over the logs that blocked our path. I scrambled along behind him, and when we reached a particularly large log, he knelt on the top and offered his hand. The instant his flesh brushed mine, it was electrical. A current of excitement shot through me as his strong fingers closed over mine and he pulled me up onto the log. I lost my footing and teetered, nearly falling. But he firmly gripped my arms, steadying me as our eyes locked.

  Our faces were inches apart, and as he gazed intently into my eyes, my heart thumped crazily. He said, “If I let you go, do you promise not to fall?”

  I nodded and he released me from his gentle grasp and climbed down the other side of the log. As I followed, I felt a sudden breeze on my neck. I glanced up. My wig was snagged in a branch, dangling above me!

  Shane regarded me with a grin and said, “Much better!”

  Embarrassed, I snatched the wig from the branch. “I don’t usually wear a wig.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he said softly. “You have beautiful hair.”

  “So do you!” I’d never seen a guy with so much hair before. In my era, men wore their hair cropped close. Shane’s hair shimmered sensuously in the moonlight. It was wild and free, and my fingers itched to dance through it.

  “You look like your sister,” he said, “only you’re prettier than Rita.”

  “How did you know she’s my sister?”

  “It’s obvious. Why haven’t I met you before?”

  “I’ve been away.”

  “Now that you’re back, are you going to stay?” he asked the question casually, but his voice held a note of interest that made my heart skip. He wanted me to stay!

  “It depends on how things go,” I said and quickly changed the subject, asking him questions about himself. He told me he lived a mile from the beach and walked down here every night to watch the sunset, that he loved nature and wanted to live on a farm someday.

  “I don’t want to end up in a rut like my father and live in a plastic world with plastic people and clocks telling me what to do,” he said, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice. “I want to get my hands in the dirt and watch green things grow and wake up with the sun.”

  The boys in 2070 never dreamed of becoming farmers. Shane was like no boy I’d ever met. And I was touched he’d confided in me. I loved listening to the warm flow of his words and wished I could sail away on the sound of his voice.

  “Is Ben around here somewhere?” he suddenly asked.

  I’d forgotten about Ben. I’d forgotten everything except Shane.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “I think we walked right past him.”

  After we’d backtracked fifty yards or so, I pointed to the log where I’d left Ben.

  Shane looked behind it. “He’s gone.”

  Gone? A chill blew through me. “But he passed out, how could he have—“

  “Maybe one of the guys found him and helped him home,” he said, shrugging. “Or maybe he woke up.”

  Or maybe he was slinking thro
ugh the shadows, watching us!

  We sat on the log, listening to the tide crawl in, its foamy fingers gently drumming the shore.

  Brilliant moonlight washed over us, polishing everything so the sand glittered like silver and our skin seemed to glow from within. It was so incredibly bright I could clearly see the string of debris the waves had washed in—the long snake-like ropes of seaweed we called sea whips (mingled with the other stuff that resembled cooked spinach), shattered bits of clam shells, and various sized pieces of driftwood.

  “Look,” I said, pointing to a small, swirly white shell nestled in the seaweed by our feet.

  “No one’s home,” said Shane, holding the shell between his fingers and peering into the opening. “Hermit crabs sometimes use these empty shells for houses.”

  “It’s so pretty! I’ve never seen a shell like that.”

  “It’s a frilled dogwinkle,” he said. “They’re all over.”

  Not in 2070! Had the animals who grew the lovely little shells become extinct?

  I felt a wave of sadness for all the things that no longer existed in 2070. The homes of most of Rita’s neighbors were gone—such as the house of the young mother I'd watched just hours before, so lovingly painting her shutters as her baby played nearby. Her home was probably bulldozed over by monstrous yellow machines with no respect for the memories it held. And I’d noticed a magnificent chestnut tree on the edge of Rita’s yard that had disappeared by my time.

  And what of the people—all the people, home in their beds this very moment? My real family, and the men, women, and kids who were meant to be my friends and neighbors? In the five minutes it would take me to travel a century, most of them would be long gone!

  This handsome boy by my side would likely be dead when I returned to 2070.

  But what if I didn’t go back? What if I let my life unfold as it should have before science interfered? Things would still change, people would still die, but it would happen slowly. One loss at a time.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like Ben’s going to show up,” Shane said and pulled me to my feet.