by Mute80
Shadow of a Life
by Tifani Clark
Jamie Peters plans to spend the summer before her junior year with her nose stuck in a book—not saving lost souls. Usually the girl that blends into the crowd, Jamie’s world is turned upside down when a mysterious ghost begins to follow her.
But Sophia isn’t just any ghost.
A hundred years earlier, Sophia’s disappearance sparked a national unsolved mystery. Jamie knew the legends surrounding Sophia’s disappearance, but never dreamed she'd find out what really happened . . . or that her family had something to do with Sophia’s disappearance.
Determined to set Sophia free, Jamie blows the dust off her family’s past and unearths clues that will save Sophia’s soul. She enlists the help of childhood friend—and secret crush—Peter Ashby as she sets off on a dangerous quest to find a missing map. Spending the night in a graveyard, crawling through a dilapidated barn, and staring down the barrel of a gun aren’t enough to deter Jamie. But can she find the answers she needs before another ghost gets revenge on her and Sophia?
“Tifani Clark brings an old maritime mystery to life in this haunting, paranormal tale of love, loss, regret, and unfinished business. I'm so glad I read it! It's one of my better reads this year and I highly recommend it. If you are on the fence about reading Shadow of a Life, just jump over that fence and do it. You won't be disappointed!”
Holly Kelly, author of Rising
“Tifani Clark has re-imagined ghosts and made them her own. I am excited to see what more she can do.”
Nathan Huffaker, author of Stranded
PLEASE HELP STOP PIRACY. PIRACY IS ILLEGAL AND IMMORAL! IF YOU’VE RECEIVED THIS COPY WITHOUT PAYING FOR IT (excepting if you received it from the publisher or the author) THEN YOU ARE READING A STOLEN COPY. PLEASE DELETE AND PURCHASE YOUR OWN COPY THROUGH THE PROPER CHANNELS.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedicated to the real Sophia Briggs and her family, wherever you are.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Authors Note
Haven Waiting: Soul Saver Book Two excerpt
About the Author
Copyright Info
CHAPTER 1
My eyes popped open and I stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, heart pounding. Something had pulled me out of a deep sleep. A noise. I’d definitely heard a noise. I lay motionless, listening for any sign of movement, but the only sounds I heard were the faint tick-tick-tick of my watch and my own heart thumping in my ears. The room was dark except for a thin stream of light extending from the crescent moon outside my open window. What made that noise? Is someone in my room?
“Come on, Jamie. Don’t be a baby,” I whispered to myself. My heart raced faster and faster as I forced myself to turn my head and look into the shadowy corners of my bedroom.
Nothing.
My alarm clock flashed 12:00 a.m. I’d fallen asleep during a spring rain shower, and the storm must have knocked the power out at some point during the night. I fumbled for my cell phone on the nightstand and checked the time. 3:48 a.m. I sighed and sat up, turning on my lamp as I did so. The sudden burst of light blinded me for a few seconds, and I rubbed my eyes to relieve the blurriness before reaching to reset my clock.
And then I smelled it. A floral scent—rose, with a hint of lavender—and it was strong. My heart began to pound again. Something wasn’t right. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood on trembling legs. Cautiously, I stepped toward my window just as a gust of wind blew my pale green curtains, whipping them against my dresser.
“Ouch.” Something hard mangled my foot. I looked down and saw the metal lid of a perfume bottle.
Ahh . . . it all made sense. The wind blew my curtains into the bottle and knocked it off the top of my dresser. That would explain the noise and the smell. I bent down and grabbed the overturned bottle, hoping to save some of the contents before it all leaked onto my antique hardwood floors. No such luck. I sighed again. The smell would be in my room forever, or at least until I was well into my college years. I slammed my window shut and climbed back into bed.
It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. In the previous few weeks I’d had more experiences than I cared to admit where I found myself feeling like something wasn’t right—or that I was being watched—when I knew for sure that I was the only one home.
I worried that I might be developing anxiety problems. Or worse, that I’d lost my mind. I was Jamie Peters—the tough one. The one that let bad things roll off her back without thinking twice. The one that nothing exciting ever happened to. I didn’t want to tell my dad about my problem. He had enough on his mind without me adding childish fears to it.
I knew myself well enough to know that I wasn’t going to fall asleep again. I reached for the latest novel I was working my way through and began to read, hoping to lose myself in another world—a world where people aren’t losing their minds.
*****
“Hey,” I yelled after crashing headfirst into someone in front of me.
“Maybe you should try looking up once in a while,” the figure responded gently.
I did look up—and saw a stunningly beautiful girl.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
As if my morning hadn’t already been off to a bad enough start, the textbooks and papers I’d been so carefully holding as I walked to the bus stop were now scattered haphazardly across the sidewalk. I guess it served me right for not taking the time to stuff everything into my backpack. I bent to retrieve my things and the girl I’d just barreled into stooped to help.
“Thanks,” I said, looking up again.
The blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl didn’t say anything, but she gave me a fleeting smile before continuing on her way. I watched her retreating figure as she disappeared around the corner and wondered how my life would be different if I looked like her. I wasn’t ugly—at least, I didn’t think I was—but I definitely wasn’t gorgeous like the blonde girl. With plain brown hair that fell just below my shoulders, brown eyes, and average height, there was nothing to make me stand out from the crowd. Sometimes I would attempt to style my hair or wear a little makeup, but I always felt like someone trying to cover up a botched plastic surgery. I’m sure most of the problem was that I had no clue what to do when it came to makeup and hairstyles. My dad was raising me alone and it wasn’t like he could give me beauty tips.
I zipped my quilted jacket as high as it could go, pulled its hood over my hair, and tucked my free hand into my pocket as I trudged the rest of the way to the bus stop. I could see my breath and I lowered my head—this time with my eyes facing forward— to block some of the bitter cold wind from my already reddened face. The weather was frustratingly cold considering it was late May. I’d lived in Massachusetts all my life and was used to crazy weather, but that was just ridiculous.
The school bus was already at the curb when I arrived and I got in line with the rest of the students waiting for a ride to Old Rochester Regional High School. “I wish I was still in bed,” I muttered under my breath.
“Huh?” the bo
y in front of me, Peter Ashby, asked as he pulled buds from his ears and looked at me expectantly.
“Nothing.” I blushed. I hoped my face was already too red from the wind for anyone to notice.
“Jamie, there you are.” My best friend, Camille Spencer, waved from the back of the bus. I pushed my way through students and backpacks and climbed over mountains of feet in the aisle as I worked my way to the seat next to her.
“What took you so long? You’re usually first in line at the bus stop,” she pointed out.
“I couldn’t sleep last night and I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed this morning.” I sighed. “And, to top it all off, I ran into an Aphrodite.”
Camille raised her eyebrows. “A what?”
“An Aphrodite. You know, a girl that’s really pretty and . . . never mind.”
Camille didn’t question me any further and I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t usually have anything interesting to talk about. She, on the other hand, had a mind that worked a mile a minute and could change subjects faster than I could think.
“Jamie, did you hear about Anthony Dewitt? He got caught smoking pot behind the school and now they aren’t going to let him graduate. Everybody’s talking about it this morning. You didn’t notice my new shoes, by the way. Mom got them for me yesterday. Want a bite?”
I glanced at Camille’s outstretched hand clutching a half-eaten Pop-Tart. “No thanks.”
Camille and I had been best friends since elementary school and lived only a few blocks apart. Her looks more than made up for my plainness. Her green eyes had actual sparkles in them. Of course, she sometimes wore glitter on her eyelids—that probably helped the effect. And did I mention that she was a flirt?
I’d always been the sidekick. The number two. The tagalong. The “other one.” Maybe I wouldn’t be the “other one” and maybe I wouldn’t blend into the background if my best friend wasn’t so pretty. I should find ugly friends.
“Heads up,” a voice called from somewhere in front of us.
My reaction time was slow and I didn’t look up until it was too late to do anything about the football arcing its way toward me. It landed in my lap. For the second time that morning I was yanked from my thoughts by my pile of books scattering—that time all over the nasty bus floor. I jerked my head up to glare at the culprit, but Camille smiled and batted her eyelashes, emitting a giggle that I couldn’t replicate even if I wanted to.
I should have known. The football belonged to Travis Andrews. Football season ended months before, but he still carried that stupid thing around all the time. Heaven forbid anyone forget that he was one of our school’s star players. Travis was also Camille’s date for Saturday’s prom. And no, I was not going to the dance with anyone. I gathered my books once more, waving away help from Travis who just shrugged his shoulders and continued flirting with Camille, apparently feeling the need to constantly be near her.
It was Friday and, after the weekend, we only had one week of school left before summer break. My countdown had begun. I both longed for and dreaded summer vacation. It was nice having a three-month reprieve from homework and tests, but I always grew bored long before the hot month of August came to a close, heralding the start of another school year. When I was a little kid, I would spend my summer breaks at Smiley’s Summer Camp. Basically, it was a glorified day care for kids whose parents worked and couldn’t be home to babysit when school wasn’t in session. Needless to say, I was glad those days were behind me.
CHAPTER 2
“Jamie Peters?” Mr. Hanover called.
“Here,” I yelled.
It was dissection day in our freshman biology class—the last period of the day. I have a strong stomach and seeing the insides of something that used to be alive doesn’t bother me. Camille, on the other hand, refuses to watch horror movies and turns pale at the sight of gore and blood. One time when we were in second grade she fell off a swing and skinned her knee. When she saw that she was bleeding, she totally passed out. I thought she’d died. It was kind of traumatic for a seven-year-old.
Camille skipped lunch that day in anticipation of the upcoming science experiment. For some reason she didn’t want a full stomach hindering her best efforts at a frog autopsy. We had all but one class together, and since we were pretty much inseparable, it was only natural that we were lab partners in our science class. It’s not a secret that I’m a better student than she. I try to help her out when I can, but that day I wasn’t in the mood to do all the work on a project.
We both donned the unflattering smocks—stained with the remains of countless science experiments gone awry—and goggles that would undoubtedly leave circular impressions around our eyes for the rest of the day. Needless to say, we didn’t need to worry we’d be solicited by any modeling agencies in those outfits. Camille hung back as I opened the canister containing the frog. The smell of formaldehyde engulfed us instantaneously and I could feel the little hairs in my nose burn.
“Jamie, I think maybe this would be easier if I take notes while you do the cutting. It’ll still be a team effort,” Camille pleaded.
“No way, Cam. You’ll never get over your squeamishness if I always jump in to rescue you. I did all the cutting when we dissected grasshoppers and owl pellets. Owl pellets aren’t even alive. It’s your turn to cut today,” I responded, growing more annoyed by the minute. Call it PMS or lack of sleep, but for some reason I wanted to lash out at her and everyone else that day.
“Maybe owl pellets aren’t alive, but the stuff mushed up inside them used to be alive. Who wants to touch stuff that some bird puked up?” Camille whined as she pulled latex gloves over her purple-nailed fingers.
She gingerly inched the tray closer and asked for a scalpel. I obliged, feeling like a nurse in an operating room.
“Just cut it. I’m sure that once you dive in it will be easier than you think,” I reassured.
She took a deep breath, gave me one last imploring look, and plunged the knife into the belly of her victim. Frog juice spurted onto the tray and into the air. Camille screamed, threw her hands over her mouth, and ran from the classroom. Everyone in the room laughed. I tried to ignore all of them in defense of Cam, but inside I struggled to hold back my own giggles. What a drama queen.
I sighed and finished mutilating the frog, taking notes as I went. Five minutes after Camille made her spectacular exit from the room, Mr. Hanover approached my lab table.
“Ms. Peters, will you go check on Ms. Spencer? I’m sure she’s gone into the ladies room or I’d do it myself. Let me know if she’s okay, will you?” he asked as he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back over the bridge of his nose.
I felt guilty. I knew how much Camille had been dreading the day, but in my bad attitude I made her do it anyway. I went in search of her, heading straight for the nearest girls’ bathroom. I stopped in surprise when I stepped through the door. The blond Aphrodite that I’d literally run into at the bus stop earlier that day was perched on top of the counter by the sink, swinging her long slender legs. I’d never seen the girl before in my life and now I’d seen her twice in one day. Aphrodite looked at me sympathetically and pointed toward a graffiti-covered stall. I stepped to the door and tapped on it softly.
“Cam? Are you okay? Do you need anything?” I whispered.
I’m not sure what I planned to do to help. Maybe hold her hair out of the toilet? I hadn’t yet added mothering skills to my repertoire. The stall door opened slowly and Camille stepped out, wiping her mouth with a wad of toilet paper and looking as pale as a ghost. I felt bad. Aphrodite must have left while I was trying to talk to Camille through the door because she was nowhere to be found when I turned around. I hadn’t even heard the door shut. Weird. Camille shuffled over to a sink and splashed cold water on her face. I offered her a drink from a water bottle I’d grabbed out of my backpack before I left the classroom. She took a sip and attempted to hand it back.
“That’s okay.” I shuddered and waved it away. “You kee
p it.”
We hurried back to the classroom and finished cleaning up our lab table just as the final bell of the day rang. Noisy students ready to begin their weekend jammed the halls as we hurried to our lockers to retrieve our homework and jackets—blissfully unaware that our lives were about to be turned upside down.
*****
On Saturday morning I woke up way earlier than intended, just as the sun rose over the ocean outside my bedroom window. I slept much better than I had the night before. Thankfully, no creepy feelings or sounds woke me up again. After spending at least an hour trying unsuccessfully to fall back asleep, I got out of bed and crossed the hall to my bathroom. Dad had a bathroom in his bedroom, and since I didn’t have any siblings I got the other bathroom all to myself. I guess that’s one perk of being an only child.
I took a long, hot shower and only came out when my skin was beet red and shriveled and the water had started to run cold. After pulling my still-wet hair into a ponytail, I shuffled down the stairs. Dad sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.
“Good morning. How was your night? I came in to see you when I got home, but you were already asleep,” he said.
“I was tired so I went to bed kind of early.” I poured myself a bowl of cereal.
“What are you doing this weekend? Any grand adventures planned?” he joked.
“Not really. Cam and I might get together Sunday, but tonight is the prom. She’s going. I’m not.”
“Oh. I see.” Dad twisted uncomfortably in his seat before changing the subject. “Jamie, I know I’ve been working a lot lately, but we’re trying really hard to straighten out some budget issues for next year and I’ll probably be working most of the weekend. Do you have any books to read or something else to keep you occupied?”
