ARC: Cracked (20 page)

“Maybe they never did what they were supposed to.”

“Maybe,” Uri agrees. “They’re just people and all people are flawed. I think most Beacons are good people, but no one’s perfect. Take Einstein. He was a Beacon, but he also thought up the atomic bomb.”

“Are your parents guarding a Beacon?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you miss them?” I had my mom for only thirteen years, but I had her all the time for those thirteen. Maybe I’m luckier than I realized.

Uri watches, his feet scraping the dirt, his hair flopped forward so I can’t see his face. “Yeah. But it wasn’t so bad until the last year or so. I used to see them three months out of the year, one week in every six.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He looks up. “Sometimes. But anything worthwhile is worth making sacrifices for. Besides, I’ll get to spend all eternity with them, once our work here is done.”

Mom won’t be where I am going. Even if she is, she probably won’t want to see me. Time to change the subject.

“Who are they guarding?”

“A scientist at a pharmaceutical company.”

“What disease is he working on?”

“Breast cancer, but that doesn’t mean there’ll be a cure. Could just be that he’ll discover something that will lead to something else. Or maybe it’s not related to that at all and he’s going to save a baby from a burning building.”

“So you don’t even know what you’re protecting?”

He shrugs. “The good guys, isn’t that enough? After all, we don’t know what
you’re
supposed to do,” he points out. I feel a little sick to my stomach. Must be all that grease.

I catch a flicker out of the corner of my eye. I tense and Uri does the same, catching my movement. But it’s not a demon, it’s a ghost.

Great.

“What is it?” he asks, hands back in his pockets.

“Nothing. I just thought I saw a movement. It spooked me. Why don’t we head back in?” I say it quietly, partly to scare him into doing what I want and partly because I don’t want the ghost to notice us.

The silvery-smoke girl is around seven years old – or rather was. Her hair is a bunch of tiny braids and she wears a long nightgown that twines around her ankles like a cat. She moves in that relaxed, distracted manner of children when lost in their own world. She carries a bunny-shaped Easter basket with floppy ears. Uri and I hop off the swings, but the ancient wood creaks loudly. I wince as she turns, alerted and curious. I instantly turn away pretending I don’t see her. But it’s pointless. They always know. I curse silently.

“Come on, Uri, let’s go.” We start walking back around the motel. The girl catches up and prances around us on her toes. I refuse to look at her. She tries to touch my hands, but I snatch them out of reach, startling Uri. He knows something’s not right. We go faster.

We slip into our room and I close the door and lock it. Not against her, that would be pointless. She breezes right through. They can’t go through living things, but short of that, nothing can stop them. I sit on the bed and stuff my hands in my pockets. She sits down next to me and watches the bulges in my pockets like she’s a cat and they’re mice.

Ghosts can’t talk, at least not to me, but if they touch your fingertips they can show you images from their life. It’s like watching a TV that only shows home videos and someone else has the remote. Their favorite show is My Grisly Death.

Because the ghosts who bother me are always murder victims and they always want me to get revenge.

I always do it. It’s how I find my meals and I’m not really given a choice. Ghosts are amazingly pesky creatures – you can’t lock them out and you can’t keep your hands balled in your pockets forever. But I don’t have time now. She’ll just have to find someone else.

She edges closer, a warm, sweet-scented mist at my side. I edge away. She comes closer, I edge away. Uri watches.

“Lumpy bed,” I say, but his expression says he doesn’t buy it.

The ghost girl gets impatient and sticks her face in mine, trying to force me to look at her. I close my eyes and pull back, twisting away.

“Are you OK?” Uri asks.

“I have to sneeze.” Maybe my dumbest lie to date, but why else would I be twisting around with my eyes closed and my hands in my pockets? I jump up and beeline for the bathroom. I close the door and she follows right through it. That’s fine, this time I want her to.

Like all ghosts she’s painted in glowing silvers and greys, so saying she’s black would be a misnomer. Her eyes are as big and hopeful as I feared. I’m her only chance for justice.

“Go away,” I hiss.

Her eyebrows draw down and her lower lip starts to tremble. She looks like a kicked puppy. Then she shakes her head at me and smiles, delighted, and comes closer. I guess she doesn’t think I could possibly mean it.

“I said,
go away
.”

“Meda? Did you say something?” Uri, he’s on the other side of the door. Great.

“No. Must be the thin walls.” I wave my hands to shoo her but it is a mistake and she dives for them. I shove them back in my pockets and growl at her.

“Meda?”

Oh, for cripes’ sake.

I open the bathroom door, boxing her out so she can’t get to my hands. Uri’s on the other side.

“I just… need a moment to myself,” I say.

His face softens. “It’s OK. I’m scared for them, too.”

I open my mouth to correct him, but change my mind and push past him out of the bathroom. “I’m going to get a soda from the vending machine. You want one?”

He starts to follow me – a good bodyguard would – but I guess my plea for alone-time changes his mind and he stops. “Sure.”

“What kind?”

“Orange.”

“I’ll be right back.” I walk across the room with my hands firmly in my pockets as the wispy girl shadows me. As I slip out, I see Uri moving towards the window. I glance back as I walk towards the main building and see him peeking between the blinds. I turn the corner, out of sight, but instead of going to the lobby I cut around the side of the building. Then I wheel around on my annoying tag-along.

“Look,” I say sternly to the ghost. “I have my own problems. I can’t go chasing down your bad guys for you. Go find someone else.” She ignores me in favor of my pocketed hands. Her eyes are big and full of stars.

I kick at her as I would a cat. She’s a ghost so I can’t do anything but stir her air. She doesn’t notice. I walk away and predictably she follows.

Ghosts.

Uri will start to worry if I take too long. “Fine,” I say, I pull my hands out and she dives for them, but I shove them back in my pockets before she can reach them. “First, some rules. I can’t go after them right now.”

Her eyes get the kicked-puppy look.

I continue. “But I promise I will go after him as soon as I can,” provided I’m still alive. The lower lip protrudes again and the starry eyes fill with moonlight tears. “That’s the best I can offer. Take it or leave it.”

She waits for me to cave, but I am made of stone. “That means no following me. Not even a little.”

She nods, not meeting my eyes. I keep my hands in my pockets and wait for her to meet my eyes, then glare to let her know I mean it. She looks sulky but nods again. I take a deep breath before sliding my hands free. I lift them as if touching an invisible glass between us, the barrier between the living and the dead. She touches her silver fingertips to mine and I fall down the rabbit hole.

The last thing I see before my eyes are traded for hers is Uri’s face, whiter than the ghost’s in the moonlight.

You might think, given my hobby, that I would enjoy watching the things ghosts show me, like hunters watching
Buck Commander
on the Outdoor Channel. But I don’t, and hunters probably wouldn’t either if the show was shot from inside the deer.

And, like the deer, this little girl was very, very innocent. At least the deer never believe the hunters love them. But this little girl and her murderer… It’s sick.

And, anyway, he had bad form.

He’ll get what’s coming to him. I will see to it. What I do to him will make what he did to Annabel seem like an act of kindness.

I drop back into my body, which lies seizing. I open my eyes and Uri’s panicked face is above mine, in front of a water-stained ceiling.

“Meda? Meda?” His voice breaks. I blink.

“Uri,” I say stupidly. The whole thing is very disorienting.

“Should I call the hospital?” The phone is clenched in his hand. I tilt my head, taking in my surroundings. We’re back in the hotel room. Uri must have carried me, impressive for such a little guy.

Hospital? “No.” I clear my throat. It’s sore from all of Annabel’s screaming. I am me, the ghost is gone. My brain sluggishly cranks into action. Uri would have seen me talk to myself then watched me collapse. “No, Uri, I’m fine.” I sit up. The room swims a little then settles back into focus. “I’m fine,” I repeat.

Uri looks unconvinced. I grasp for an explanation.

“I have epilepsy. Seizures.”

His eyes narrow. “No, you don’t. I saw you talking to someone.”

“I hallucinate?” I didn’t mean it to be a question, but it comes out as one. Uri shakes his head. When all else fails, try the truth. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes.”

“I see dead people.” I don’t get a laugh from him. “I’m not kidding. I see ghosts. They tell me things.”

Uri tucks his chin in surprise. “Things? What kinds of things?” He’s taking it better than I expected. I guess when you grow up fighting demons your worldview is a little more flexible than the average person’s.

I gingerly push myself up until I am sitting upright on the bed, then slide back to rest against the headboard. “How they died. They want me to find their murderers.” I shake my head to clear the remaining fog and Uri puts a concerned hand on my arm.

“And do what?”

Torture them to death. “Make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.” Uri senses the ambiguity in my answer, so I go for the straight lie. “Turn them in to the police, point out evidence, that kind of thing.” Disembowel them; drown them in regret and blood.

Uri’s face lights up. “That’s it, Meda! That’s what you’re supposed to do! Catch bad guys!” He pauses, thinking. “But why do we need to keep it a secret? We need to tell Chi and Jo.”

I don’t know why I can see ghosts, but since I haven’t met any Templars who can do it, I have to assume it’s from the demon side. I can’t risk Jo finding out and putting it together. She’s too clever by half. “Because…” Come on brain! “Because, the ghosts told me not to tell anyone.”

“But you just told me.”

Stupid brain!
I scramble. “Only after you caught me. I’m not supposed to go around telling people.”

Uri digests this and I try not to hold my breath. “But we have to tell them. This means we know your Beacon mission and we don’t need to find Luke.”

Eek! Can’t have that! “Not exactly. I mean, Jo said I’m the only Beacon to ever also have been a Templar. What are the chances, then, that my Templar-ness isn’t related to whatever my Beacon mission is?”

He cocks his head. “What are the chances that you can see dead people and
that’s
not related to your Beacon mission?”

Touché. Clever little bugger, isn’t he?

“Maybe they’re
both
related,” I suggest.

Uri settles back on his heels and taps his chin. Point – Meda.

“Can other Templars see ghosts?” I ask.

“Not that I know of,” he says, then pauses, thinking. “I think demons can, though.”

Danger!

His face brightens. “Jo could probably tell us.”

“We can’t tell Jo.” We absolutely can’t tell Jo. “The ghosts made me promise.” He looks like he’s on the fence, uncertainty making him look even younger. “How about this – I think we still need to find out about my mom’s past, because it could be related, so our current plans don’t change, but I’ll see if the ghosts will let me out of my promise.”

Uri scrunches his face, thinking, and again I try not to let him see how important his decision is to me. Finally he nods.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he agrees. I relax back on the bed.

“Can you tell me about ghosts? Since I know already?”

I don’t see the harm, so I tell him. He flops back on the bed, hands behind his head.

I don’t really know that much. Ghosts mostly have a one-track mind: get the bad guy. They all seem to carry some sort of bag or, in Annabel’s case, a basket. Once, I asked a ghost what it was for. Actually, I asked a lot of ghosts, but only one ever answered me. That’s that whole annoying-ghost thing I was talking about. In any case, he showed me.

While the video I most often get is a horror, the basket contains what most people would choose to film to celebrate their life. Birthdays and Christmases, trips to the beach, new puppies, parents, children. But it’s more than just a memory. Memories are flat and faded. This is like living it for the first time.

“Why do they collect them?” Uri asks, twisting his head to look at me.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Maybe they showed up to Heaven too early and St Peter wouldn’t let them in.” I hold up my hands as if to stop someone. “No Vacancy.” I shrug and continue lightly. “They have to do something to pass the time.”

Uri doesn’t laugh. He’s back to staring at the ceiling and his forehead is scrunched as if he’s trying to read answers etched in the stained popcorn-paint. Then his face relaxes. “I think I know. Their ends are so horrible and early that they get to relive good memories to replace their last, bad one. You’d want your last memory to be something good, something you wouldn’t ever want to forget.”

“How could dying
ever
be something you wouldn’t want to forget? The ones I’ve seen…” I shiver. “I don’t want to experience it the first time, let alone over and over.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Old and surrounded by family, or doing something heroic – in a battle, or rescuing someone.” His voice gets really soft, a little dreamy. “Or sacrificing yourself for someone else. That’s something you’d never want to forget.”

I don’t agree, but I recognize that Uri is a rather deep little kid.

He twists again. “So, do they, like, watch people in the shower?”