“Hi, Mum.”
“Hi, darling, it’s so good to hear from you. How’s everything going?”
Zoe closed her eyes, exhaled deeply before she answered, hoping to hide her emotions. “Okay, I guess.”
“What’s the matter?”
Zoe almost managed a grin for thinking she could ever fool her mother. They may not be blood-related, but her mum knew her inside and out. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Okay,” Mum said slowly, cautiously.
Zoe closed her eyes while she called on her remaining reserves of courage. “I see spirits again.”
“Are you taking your medication properly?” There was concern in Mum’s tone.
“I’m not taking it at all—”
“Not at all?” Mum shrieked.
“It never worked anyway. It didn’t make the ghosts disappear. I’m not mentally ill, I can really see spirits. How do you think I knew about the secret you were hiding from me? Nan told me. I saw her at the funeral, she came to the house afterwards—”
“That’s enough,” Mum yelled. Her loud voice vibrated Zoe’s heart. “I’m coming to get you. You need an appointment with a doctor, so we can get some better medication—”
“I’m not sick! I have proof of what I see. A friend here at the school is going to check it all out for me and, hopefully, I can get some answers why this is happening.”
There was a long silence then a sob burst through the speaker. Zoe’s heart sunk to her stomach. “Mum, please. I know this is scary for you, but I really need your support.”
“We’ll leave in the morning. I’m bringing you home.”
“No, Mum. I’m fine. Listen to me—”
“Zoe?” It was her father.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What’s going on?”
She told her father what she had said to Mum.
“I think your mother is right. We need to come get you. We’ll play it safe and get you checked out by a doctor.”
Zoe’s jaw ached from tensing it. “You’re not coming here! I’m doing well. My grades are perfect. I never stopped seeing spirits. Drugs, doctors, hospitals, it doesn’t change anything. I’m going to deal with it in my own way. You can’t just charge in here and take me home.”
“You’re our daughter, we can do whatever we like.”
“Dad! Listen to me. I have proof that what I’m seeing is real. I’m working on getting answers. I have some friends helping me. I feel more supported by them right now than I ever have since all this began.” It burnt her tongue to speak so harshly to her father, but it was the truth.
Her parents never really supported her throughout all this, they simply wanted to hide her away because what they saw in her and what she said, scared them.
She didn’t blame them for that entirely, but it was their job to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“You don’t think we supported you?” he asked.
“Not in the way I needed. What you did for me was in your own self-interest. I am what I am. I see what I see, and I’ve realised nothing is going to change that. No amount of doctors or drugs or hospitals. I’ve come to peace with that, finally, after all of this time of hating myself.
“Now, I can’t force you to do the same. That part’s up to you. But I can’t change. And I’m not changing. So I really hope you find it in your heart to accept me as I am—even those parts you don’t like.”
“We do accept you. We love you. But we want to help you.”
“So you can change me? So you can hide me away from everyone? That’s not acceptance. And that does not help. Look, you’re obviously not listening. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait—”
Zoe hung up. What more was there to say? She had done the hard work learning to love herself for who she was; it was up to them now to do the same.
Chapter 29
Theron hadn’t called, nor visited. Zoe understood why he was angry. But she wasn’t about to apologise for something she had no control over.
She didn’t want secrets between them. She knew how it felt to have something withheld from her that when the truth was finally revealed—and it always was—the pain of the shock and betrayal hurt far worse than the truth itself.
To hurt Theron in that way wasn’t something she could do. He meant too much to her.
Her heart ached each time she thought of him and knew the pain would continue to throb, intensifying more as the hours ticked by, until he called her.
If he calls me. Perhaps it’s over between us.
She shook her head. No. She couldn’t think that way. Once upon a time, when she was trying to resist hauling him into her drama, she would have thought it positive for Theron to walk away.
But now, she was much too invested: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. For him to leave her now would break her heart into a million miserable pieces.
“Ready to go?” Asher asked from her bedroom doorway, startling Zoe. She had a bag slung over each shoulder and was carrying her tripod in her hand.
Zoe smiled. “Let’s do this.”
Asher stopped as they were heading out the door. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it soon enough.”
Zoe nodded. “I hope so.”
They scurried along the rat run, out into the night, toward the school. She wanted Theron with her tonight; there was something about his unfaltering strength and confidence, despite the unusual circumstances, that she craved. But, because of their argument, she was going to have to call on her own bravery tonight.
When outside the G1 building where the dripping girl lingered, Asher fitted a cap on Zoe’s head. A GoPro had been fastened to it. “This way we can’t miss a thing,” she said.
Zoe pushed on the door. It opened. The subtle drone of a floor polisher hummed like a swarm of bees in the distance.
They crept to the stairs leading to the long corridor where she first saw the dripping girl. Drawing a deep breath to access a modicum of bravery, she ventured up the stairs. With each step, she filled her thoughts with those of the girl, in an attempt to make her appear and ensure her form was sharp and vivid.
As she walked down the hall, their footsteps were the only sound, the overhead fluoro lights a bright halo from above. It was eerily quiet walking the halls at night.
Each room’s door was closed, a little pane of glass showing the darkened rooms behind. It reminded her of the abandoned hospital, and her heart beat out a hasty rhythm as she imagined the spirits’ desperate faces squished up against the glass and their terrified screams.
Zoe rubbed her arms as a layer of goosebumps pimpled her flesh.
Her next breath out was a cobweb of steam from her lips. She looked back at Asher.
Asher nodded, urging Zoe to keep going while rummaging through one of her bags and grabbing out a temperature gauge. She held a camcorder in her other hand, little green light flashing, and focused the camera lens on the temperature dial to record the numbers flickering.
Zoe focused ahead and came face to face with the dripping, dead girl. Zoe gasped and threw her hand to her chest.
The girl was standing inches in front of her. Her eyes held Zoe’s. The cold damp of her dead body was close enough to be felt. The scent of swamp water and mud filled Zoe’s senses along with rotting flesh. Her eyes watered, and she stifled a dry-retch.
She stumbled two steps back, desperate for gulps of clean air.
“Um, hi,” Zoe said with a tremulous voice, unsure what to say. She hadn’t thought about this part of the plan. “My name is Zoe. Zoe Mason. I’m here to help you.” Her words sounded weak and frightened to her own ears and too loud in this quiet space.
The girl stared at her with her deathly pale eyes, while water dripped from her blue dress to the linoleum floor forming a puddle at the girl’s bare feet.
“But I need your help too.” Zoe was trying to sound strong, assertive, but her voice was breathy from adrenalin. Her hands and lips were trembling.
The girl’s eyes shifted in their sockets and focused more directly on Zoe. Under her creepy, desolate gaze, Zoe shuddered.
Faint traces of blue irises, now so pale they barely showed colour, were visible. “You’ve been waiting for me?” Zoe asked.
The girl nodded slowly. “I need you to help me.”
“That’s why I’m here. But, please, you must help me first. Do you understand?”
The girl’s head cocked to the side in that jagged way spirits did as though their image was glitching.
“I need you to come with me outside, down to a quiet, private place behind the school. I’ve some questions.” Zoe stopped and brought to mind the small clearing in the bushland she, Asher, and Theron had decided on yesterday specifically for tonight.
She hoped by thinking about it, the girl would see the mental image and follow her there. “Do you understand where I’d like to talk with you?”
The girl’s features pinched in what Zoe recognised as fear.
“It’s okay. You’re safe with me. And when we’re done, I’ll take you where you need to go. I promise.”
The girl remained silent but nodded.
“What’s your name?” Zoe asked.
“Delia,” she said, her voice a rough vibrato that pierced Zoe’s ears. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the sound spirits made, much like metal scraping on metal.
“Okay, Delia, I’m going to head down to the clearing. Meet me there.”
Delia nodded.
Zoe readjusted her cap, then turned to Asher and held her hands up to show her crossed fingers. She wasn’t sure this would work, but it was worth a try.
◆◆◆
The bush was black, aside from the thin flicker of moonlight as it penetrated the canopy of trees. As Asher set up all her equipment at various points around the cleared area, Zoe held a torch in front of her, slowly spinning in a circle, shining a light on her otherwise gloomy surroundings.
Thunder rumbled in the distance; the air was thick with humidity.
Zoe peered up, unable to see if it was cloudy or not for the dense smattering of branches and leaves that blocked her view. She hoped it wasn’t going to rain and make tonight even more difficult.
Underfoot were small sticks and moss-covered branches, and, beneath that, a matted layer of rotting leaves and soil. The gaseous scent of decay wafted as she walked.
A spotlight flicked on. Zoe squinted. Then another lit up a little further along until Asher had all three glowing, surrounding Zoe in their light.
Zoe’s tummy was a knot of nerves, pulling tighter and tighter the more time that sped by.
She hoped like hell this worked.
She needed answers that, hopefully, someone would be able to provide, and answers she might be able to get from Marcus when she took Delia to The Afterlife.
The minutes ticked by and Delia hadn’t shown. Zoe paced back and forth. “What if this doesn’t work?”
Asher, one eye hovering behind her video recorder, the other squinted, checked the vision stream. “Everything is going to work out. If we don’t get all the answers, we’ll, at least, get some.”
Zoe kept pacing, continued to form images of Delia and the clearing in her mind. When she had spoken with Delia in the corridor, she was vivid, but not to the extent her grandmother had been, or even Barkley.
Another five minutes passed. Zoe was ready to pack up and go home when Delia finally appeared in the distance between nests of trees and wild green growth. Her head was darting from side to side as though frantically looking for something or someone.
“Delia,” Zoe said.
Delia’s head snapped up, faded eyes staring straight ahead. She looked a real ghostly fragment against the backdrop of the inky forest.
Zoe shivered. She would never get used to the unnerving sensation she felt at the sight of each and every one of them, but she wasn’t about to give in to her fear.
Zoe started toward Delia a few paces. “Delia,” she said again. “Can you join me here?”
Delia shook her head quickly, the image of her was still shaky like she was a video stream interrupted by static. The chills running up and down Zoe’s back were evidence of how seeing that made her feel.
“Please.”
Delia shook her head again and screamed a high-pitched scream. It echoed through the forest, bouncing off trees. Zoe’s heart thumped deep to hear the fear in that scream. She pressed her hands over her ears.
“What’s happening?” Asher asked.
“She’s screaming.” She turned back to Delia, frowning. “Nothing can hurt you here.”
Delia’s hand sprung up in front of her and pointed in Asher’s direction.
“What?” Zoe asked, confused.
“She can. She can hurt me.”
“I promise you that won’t happen. You’re safe with us.”
An image slammed into Zoe’s head with the intensity of a heavy fist.
Delia, dressed in her pale blue dress—twenties style. She had her long hair in a swirl on her head and wore bright red lipstick. A string of pearls adorned her neck, hanging low.
Asher was there.
Zoe shook her head, trying to understand the scene. “I don’t understand,” she said though there was no strength or volume to her words.
More images came, hard and fast, painfully forceful.
Delia and Asher were walking hand in hand through the scrub. Asher carried her recording equipment. There was a dark and deep dam with scum and rotting leaves floating on the surface. Hanging trees lined its shore, swaying in a sad monotony of movement.
Asher was speaking to her, telling her that she needed to know what happened when people died. She wanted footage of it as evidence. That she was going to be famous.
Asher stepped closer, a rushed step, and Delia’s pale blue eyes widened in fear. Asher was telling her not to scream. Not to struggle. The footage needed to be beautiful, just like she would be as she was dying.
The images stopped with a jerk, appearing like blurs of quick-moving colour, then fast forwarded in time.
Delia was tied, her wrists and ankles, with electrical tape. She was with Asher in the water, her body submerged under it, Asher holding her down. Asher’s hand gripped the top of Delia’s head, shoving hard.
Delia’s diaphragm convulsed with the need for air, her stomach was cramped, and when she couldn’t hold on anymore, instead of a breath of air, black stinking pond water flooded her lungs, burned down her throat like boiling poison.
And as life slowly ebbed, the green flash of a camera captured every moment.
Zoe stood perfectly still, unable to move. A scream was in her throat, but she didn’t dare release it.
Asher killed Delia. Oh, my God, Asher killed Delia.
She shook her head, gasped in a breath, barely capable of believing what she had been shown. But why would a spirit make up something like that? What purpose would it serve to lie?
It hit her then—a cold creeping fear up her spine, spreading along her arms, making her heart thud deep and bruising against her ribs. Asher knew Zoe was making contact with Delia tonight, yet she had done nothing to dissuade Zoe from doing so, when it was almost inevitable that she would find out who her killer was.
Why?
“Something the matter?” came Asher’s voice from behind.
Zoe flinched, but quickly shook her head and tried to appear as calm as she could, though inside she was a tangle of fear and uncertainty.
Turning to face Asher, she said, “Having a little trouble making her come over here.” Her best efforts were put toward keeping the frightened crack out of her voice. But she couldn’t meet Asher’s eyes—knowing that they were the last ones to have seen Delia alive.
“You look a little flustered,” Asher said, striding to her.
Again she shook her head quickly. “Not at all.” It was a squeak. Her damn voice was betraying her. All she could think about was what the hell Asher was planning to d
o tonight?
Did Asher think Zoe would be fine with the fact that she killed Delia?
Or was she intending a similar sinister fate for Zoe?
A shudder wracked Zoe’s body. Her hands trembled.
Asher gripped her shoulder. Zoe met her eye; a mock glinted in their purple hue. “Get her over here. We need to get this done.”
Zoe nodded, then spun to Delia who was watching her with wide dead eyes, water endlessly dripping, dripping, dripping. “Cooperate. Please,” she said with a weak voice. “Please, Delia. Let’s get this over and done with, then I’ll take you where you need to go.”
But she wasn’t sure now if she wanted to be unconscious in front of Asher, even if it was for only a split-second. Would Asher use that moment to kill her too?
Delia, perhaps sensing Zoe’s fear, nodded dismally and stepped with no sound through the grass and trees until she was standing at Zoe’s side.
Zoe swallowed hard, trying to force down as much of her fear as she could.
Maybe Asher didn’t realise she knew the truth.
Perhaps, when they were done with Delia, they would head back to the school together, then Zoe could go to the police.
She felt the familiar press of her mobile phone in her front jean pocket. If she could ring the police now, without Asher knowing, then she would be safe.
But how would she explain to them why she was fearful of Asher? There most likely wasn’t any tangible evidence that Asher was the killer? And in this world, this current time period, Zoe knew, more than anyone, that visible, touchable evidence was essential.
Nobody was going to believe a young woman, with a history of ‘so-called’ mental illness, that she received a vision of Asher drowning Delia from a ghost, and they certainly were not going to act on it.
Zoe glanced at the cameras that were set up around her with their slow blinking green light.
Footage.
Unless Asher had discarded it, there could still be footage of the death, probably somewhere back at their dorm. Zoe shuddered anew to think she had spent the last few months with this girl, and all the while Asher was hiding that she had killed a girl with her bare hands—drowned her in a dam.
After Life Page 19
