“That you are,” I said with a smile. “Okay, well, it’s pretty simple. I have it on good authority that the people who died in that fire are now back … or at least their spirits are.”
“What kind of authority?”
“Okay, I’m the authority. I already told you — I keep seeing them everywhere.” Zac started to say something, but I cut him off. “And I know I’m right because the people I’ve seen are the same people in this photograph.”
I waved the sheet of paper at him, but he didn’t take it. He’d gone rigid.
“Look,” I continued more gently, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but something or someone is raising the dead at this school, and I’d bet my life that whoever’s doing it is the same person who brought Alex back —”
I realised my mistake too late. The words had slipped out in a moment of carelessness.
I watched as incredulity settled over Zac’s face. “What did you just say?”
“Never mind.”
“It’s a bit late for that. You mean Alex as in your old boyfriend, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
His eyes went wide. “Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”
“I told you it was a complicated relationship,” I muttered, unable to meet his gaze.
“That’s the understatement of the year! Chloe, how can you be in a relationship with someone who’s … who’s dead? I mean it’s impossible! It’s unnatural —”
“It’s very possible actually,” I jumped in. “Honestly, it’s no different from having a relationship with a living person only they’re harder to hold onto.”
Zac rubbed his temple, unable to believe he was having this conversation. “Okay, for argument’s sake let’s say you could have a relationship with a ghost. Why the hell would you want to?”
“It’s not like they’re monsters, Zac.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, what am I thinking? People love ghosts. That’s why they’re such a dominant theme in romantic comedies. Wait, no, I’m thinking of horror movies.”
“I’m telling you, they can be just as loving and loyal as you and me. Besides, you’ve never met one so how do you know how you feel about them?”
“I’ve never met a werewolf either, but I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t get along.”
“You’re just thinking of all the negative stuff you’ve ever heard about ghosts,” I told him. “People are afraid of the dead because they remind them of their own mortality. But the truth is, sooner or later we’re all going to join them so why bother being afraid? They’re not that different from you and me.”
“Right, except for one huge whopping difference.”
“Don’t be so narrow-minded. Can’t you at least meet Alex before deciding to hate him?”
“I don’t hate him,” Zac clarified. “But I am scared of him, like any normal person would be. Like you should be.”
“That’s ridiculous. Alex is one of the gentlest people you’ll ever meet.”
“He’s not a person!”
“And you’re not being very politically correct right now.”
“Oh my God!” Zac threw up his hands. “This has got to be the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had.”
“Hey, you wanted to know.”
He let out a low whistling breath. “You’re right about that — I did ask for it. And we’re going to finish this talk later. But right now I have a swim meet to get to.”
I checked my watch to find the day had slipped away from us. I guess time flies when you’re freaking out.
Zac promised the swim meet wouldn’t last more than an hour so I agreed to walk over with him and wait. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go home anyway — I still wasn’t ready to give my father that satisfaction — and besides, I had plenty to mull over. There had to be a connection between the new visions, Alex’s return and the necromancer he was certain had brought him back. But what was it?
I couldn’t help thinking about the strange timing of it all. For me, high school had always been an uphill battle, like some grim initiation ritual into the real world. For years I’d had to navigate my way blindly through this obstacle course, hoping for an end in sight. Now that end was almost upon me; the finish line was within reach. I just had to keep my head down for the next few months, get through graduation and I’d be home free. It should have been smooth sailing. Instead, it felt like the whole school was on the brink of catastrophe. One hurdle after another just kept popping up and slapping me in the face.
I suppose I was so busy worrying about senior year and lamenting the bad timing that I didn’t stop to consider something vital. Looking back on it now, I should have read the signs better. I of all people should have seen the little things for what they really were — precursors of real danger to come.
A strong wind had picked up. It rattled the windows and made the tree branches creak, and seemed to be alive with a melancholy personality of its own, screaming one minute and moaning the next. It caused an ominous atmosphere — a sense of rampaging manic energy. My skin prickled all over and I knew something bad was about to happen. I just didn’t know what or where. I felt like I had a responsibility to inform someone. But what would I say? I could produce no tangible evidence. It wasn’t like the principal would thank me for alerting her to a “paranormal attack” and close down the school until further notice.
As I glanced around the bustling parking lot, a feeling of helplessness crept over me. I didn’t know every student by name, but I knew all their faces. They were average Californian kids, rooted in the here and now. For the most part, their days were sun-filled, their nights balmy and their minds free of trouble. They were completely oblivious to the dark worlds that existed alongside the bright one they occupied and their complacency made them vulnerable. Whatever storm was brewing, it would catch them completely off guard.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Zac and I reached the pool, the rest of the team was already outside, waiting for Coach Curtis to unlock the door. As we made our way up the gravel path lined with succulents, I realised I hadn’t set foot in this place since the ninth grade when swimming was a compulsory component of PE.
“Hey, guys,” Zac said. “What’s with the windows?”
I saw that the building’s floor-to-ceiling windows were covered with a heavy fog. Usually you could see straight through and watch the swimmers at practice, but today it was like a white wall had appeared.
One of the boys shrugged. “Dunno. I think the A/C is down.”
“I hate it when that happens,” Zac said. “It’s like swimming in a sauna.”
“Yeah, it’s gross,” the boy agreed, then turned his attention to me. “Hey, Kennedy, are you here to cheer Zac on?”
“That’s right,” I said sarcastically. “I’m his number one fan.”
“Where are your pompoms?”
“Shut up, Daniel,” Zac said, saving me the trouble of telling him myself.
Coach Curtis appeared jangling a set of keys in his hand. “Okay, boys,” he said. “I hope you’re ready to train hard today. Oh, dammit, don’t tell me the A/C is out again. I’ve been at admin about that for months, but does anybody listen?”
He unlocked the door and the team traipsed inside, groaning in complaint. The steam was almost impossible to see through and made the air stiflingly hot. The tension in my body grew.
“Chloe, you’d better take my hand,” Zac said. “These tiles can get pretty slippery.”
“Oh, Chloe, please take my hand!” someone nearby mimicked in a high-pitched voice.
“Shut up, Daniel!” Zac and I chorused.
I gripped Zac’s hand. He was right about the floor and I didn’t trust myself not to lose my footing. My hair was damp now and clinging to my forehead. I felt the unpleasant sensation of my heart thumping against my ribs.
“Where the hell is Anderson?” Coach Curtis asked. “He’s usually the first one here.”
He was talking about Hart Ander
son, captain of the swim team. Everybody knew Hart, if not personally then by reputation.
“Uh, Coach,” a boy said. “There’s something in the water.”
From where I stood it looked like a black shapeless mass.
“There’s nothing in the water,” came the gruff reply. “You’re dreaming again.” There was silence for several drawn-out seconds, then Coach Curtis yelled, “Jesus Christ!”
Zac released my hand and sprinted to the edge of the pool. The other guys followed. I couldn’t see through the mist or past the throng of bodies in front of me, but I could hear the swimmers talking over one another in confusion.
Then the fog lifted and I saw that the mass at the bottom of the pool was a body curled in foetal position.
“Is that …?” someone began.
“Oh my God!”
I heard a splash as two of the boys leapt fully dressed into the water.
“Get him out!” urged the coach. “Hurry! Hurry!”
“Is he breathing?”
“Jesus! How did this happen?”
The crowd parted to make room and I saw that the two boys who had dived into the pool were now struggling to haul out Hart Anderson’s body.
Coach Curtis grabbed him, lay him on his back and pressed his ear against Hart’s lips. He started CPR, pushing against his chest and breathing into his mouth. But we all knew it was too late. Hart’s normally athletic body was already looking bloated, his lips tinged with blue. It was hard to know how long he’d been at the bottom of the pool, but his skin had puckered in places.
You could tell there was no reviving him. But Coach didn’t give up though, he kept at it until it was clear Hart was never going to respond.
The swimmers clustered together in shock. They stared at their lifeless captain, horror plastered over their faces. I’d never seen Coach look so white. Things like this just didn’t happen. Hart Anderson was a hero, invincible and destined for glory. If he could be cut down so randomly, what hope was there for the rest of us?
Finally, Coach snapped to his senses and asked if anyone had dialled 911. There was no urgency in his voice though and I knew he was simply going through the motions.
I couldn’t look at Hart’s face. It was too awful. I’d always thought of drowning as a peaceful death. I didn’t think so now. A shudder went through me, like an animal sensing the proximity of danger. And that’s when I saw her. It’s not like I hadn’t expected it; I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
The mist vanished altogether to reveal a figure on the other side of the pool. A woman in a white nightdress, her black hair streaming behind her like tentacles even though there wasn’t a hint of wind. Her lips were twisted in a cruel smile and her eyes were two black chasms in her death mask of a face. Still I recognised her; I’d know that face anywhere. Even if I was eighty years old and suffering from dementia, it would never lose its clarity.
My worst fears were realised as Isobel Reade stared back at me. Her expression was mocking as if to say, Surely you didn’t think you could escape me that easily? My mind flashed back to the message in my locker: I AM NOT GONE.
Isobel had followed me across the world … followed me through time. I had never seen her outside the grounds of Grange Hall. Strangely, the modern setting, where she was distinctly out of place, made her more terrifying. With trembling limbs, I stared at her; this time she had gone too far. Taunting me with cryptic messages and foul apparitions was one thing. Randomly taking an innocent life was quite another. Hart Anderson was a strong and healthy eighteen-year-old with so much life ahead of him. He would have graduated, gone on to college and eventually become a husband and a father. Now that future had been snatched away from him. It was hard to fathom. And why Hart? If Isobel’s motivation was revenge, what had he ever done to her?
Someone would have to break the news to his mother and father. What would they tell them? That their only son had suffered an unexpected stroke or seizure and happened to be in the water when it occurred? No matter what cause of death the coroner came up with, I knew the truth: Hart’s drowning was no accident; it was a violent murder. What made Isobel think she could get away with this? This was my school, I knew these kids. Isobel couldn’t just show up here and start tearing lives apart. I wouldn’t stand by and let that happen. I wouldn’t leave my friends and fellow students at the mercy of an invisible enemy who could strike at any time.
Whether I felt capable or not, it was up to me to do something.
An ashen-faced Coach Curtis hung up the phone and turned to his team. “Go home, boys. The paramedics are on their way. I’m going to wait here with Hart.”
He took off his windbreaker and used it to tenderly cover the dead boy’s face. Before that moment I don’t think the others really believed Hart was gone.
“But, Coach,” one of the swimmers protested weakly.
“Please.” Coach Curtis’s voice cracked. “Please … just go. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
Zac gently touched his teammate on the shoulder. “Come on. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
One by one they followed his lead, turning their backs on their friend’s body with difficulty. I’d never seen so many grief-stricken faces.
Outside, I took Zac by the arm and steered him away from the crowd. “We have to get to the theatre.”
“Chloe, for God’s sake, a guy just died!” He was barely managing to blink back tears. I knew he’d been close friends with Hart Anderson.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know how awful this is, but Hart’s death was no accident.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hart was murdered.”
Zac looked around frantically in case anyone had heard. “Chloe, you can’t say crazy stuff like that!”
“I’m saying it because it’s true. Isobel did this. I saw her on the other side of the pool.”
“Who the hell is Isobel?”
“A vengeful spirit,” I explained. “I’ve encountered her before and she’s not someone you want to mess with.”
“Okay!” Zac held up his hands and backed away from me. “I can’t do this right now. I just need a moment.”
I stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “We don’t have a choice! There’ll be time to grieve for Hart, but that time isn’t now. We need to stop Isobel before there’s another tragic accident. And trust me, there will be one.”
Zac didn’t argue any further. He swallowed down his
emotions, nodded and followed me to the theatre in silence.
I walked as fast as I could against the wind, hoping that Alex would be there. If he wasn’t, we were royally screwed. He was the only person who could help us now.
But when I flung open the theatre door and ran inside, his customary seat in the balcony was empty.
“Damn!” I yelled, tears spilling. I couldn’t shake the image of Hart’s blue-tinged face from my head. “How could this happen? How could we have let this happen?” I kicked the wall hard and stubbed my toe.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Zac put his arms around me.
“Nothing about this is okay. And now Alex isn’t here when we need him most.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t get it. We can’t do this without him!”
“So we’ll wait for him.”
I knew Zac was trying to comfort me, but he didn’t fully understand the danger we were all in.
“He might not show up for hours, days even,” I said. “Honestly, sometimes I think we’re cursed.”
I sank down into a chair and buried my face in my hands. Cursed. The word echoed in my head, triggering a new wave of hopelessness.
“We have to hold it together,” Zac said. “Especially if there is something weird going on. Look, I’m going to go call my parents. Can you wait here for me?”
“Sure.”
“I won’t be long.”
As I watched his retreating back, I felt that physical tug, that sensation of
falling that always came just before a vision. What could Becky possibly want to show me now?
It is a crisp, bright morning and as I round the corner of the house, my arms laden with freshly chopped firewood, I see Mr Alexander sitting on the back steps as if waiting for someone.
He rises when he sees me and I curtsey as required.
“Good morning, Becky. I trust you are well?”
“Very well, thank you, sir.”
“Good.” He lingers, seeming to want to say more. “Do you need help with that?” he asks eventually. “It looks heavy.”
“Oh, no, sir!” I am aghast at the very idea of accepting his assistance. “I can manage quite well, thank you.”
Nevertheless, the bundle is heavy and I am keen to get inside and unload it into the grates, which I cleaned earlier.
“I think you must have a very low opinion of me,” Mr Alexander says suddenly.
My face must reflect my surprise at the personal tone of his conversation. “Why do you say that, sir? You have shown only kindness to me,” I reply honestly.
“That may be, Becky, but I have also done things of which I am deeply ashamed.”
It occurs to me that this unburdening of guilt should be taking place in the presence of a cleric rather than a servant, but his sweet face is so pained that it melts my heart. There must be something I can say that might prove comforting to him.
Suddenly it is my mother’s voice I hear in my head and I find myself speaking her words aloud. “All sins may be pardoned, sir. We need only to ask God’s forgiveness, then make our amends.”
He becomes thoughtful, and when his eyes meet mine I see a new brightness in them, as if a secret has been unlocked.
“Out of the mouth of babes,” he whispers. “Yes, I believe I know what needs to be done now. Thank you! You have been most helpful.”
“I did nothing, sir,” I reply, before shyly adding, “Although I should like to see you cheerful again.”
“What a good heart you have, Becky. I hope you receive only blessings in your lifetime.”
I am gazing into those crystalline blue eyes when an admonishing voice calls from within. “Becky! What’s taking you so long?” It is Mrs Baxter. “You’d better not be dawdling.”