Beyond the Grave (3 page)

Annalise had stepped in and made a sugary pink cake, Trisha had brought over a dozen fat balloons, and Noah had given me the bracelet from Potion. I wasn't expecting any thing from Dad, as he was spending most of his time either asleep or sitting at Mom's bedside, but he'd surprised me by leading me out of the house and handing me the keys to his car. His gorgeous, shiny silver BMW, the one that I wasn't al lowed to wash, much less drive. But with a quick kiss on my cheek, Dad had announced that it was time I had my own form of transportation. He'd dropped the keys into my hand, told me to drive safely, and was back inside the house before I could squeal with joy.

“I've already told you a hundred times,” Annalise said. “I'm not mad about the car. I'm glad you can finally drive yourself around.” She wiped at the wet silverware.

“Then what is it? I know something's bothering you.”

She glanced toward the living room. The lights were off, with only the blue glow from the TV illuminating the room. “He loved that car. It was a gift from Mom. Why wouldn't he want to keep it for himself?”

I didn't know. He had bought a new car the following week, a little black hybrid.

“He needs time,” I said quietly. “We all do.”

“I know.” Annalise put the silverware away. When she turned back around, her eyes were filled with tears. “I worry about you. Both of you.”

I gave my sister a hug. “Well, I worry about you.”

She sniffed and pulled away. “I'll manage. I have school and my friends and Mills.”

“And I have school and my friends and Noah,” I reminded her.

“But you also have—” she looked around the room “—
this.
You're stuck here, where she was hurt. I can remove myself from it. You can't.”

What I couldn't make Annalise understand was that I did not want to remove myself from it. Yes, the house held horrible memories, but also good ones, and I couldn't separate the two. My life was formed by both, and I wasn't willing to let any of it go.

“I'm going to call you every day,” I told Annalise. “And you'd better answer the phone.”

She hugged me again. “I promise.”

Later, after I was sure that Dad was asleep in his room and Annalise was asleep in hers, I pulled out the box I kept under my bed. Hidden beneath a bunch of wrinkled T-shirts were a few pieces of equipment my parents had used in their paranormal investigations. I turned on the EMF reader first and set it on my nightstand. Then I checked the battery on the digital recorder. Finally, I brought out my thermal imaging camera and turned it on.

“Is anyone here?” I whispered. In my parents' show, they always called out in a loud, clear voice, but that was to ensure the sound quality of the program. For my purposes, I only
needed to be loud enough for the sensitive recorder to pick up my voice. “Can you hear me?”

I waited, as I had nearly every night for weeks. Only one light shone on the EMF reader, the one signaling that it was on.

“I need to know if someone's here.”

I had been doing this for so long it felt like a sacred ritual. After I could no longer bear the daily visits to Mom's bedside, I decided that I could do something else to help her, something more powerful than my somber hand-holding. And even though nothing had happened yet, I still believed that I was helping her. I held on to the possibility that the answers I needed could be discovered if only I tried hard enough. Mom had suffered serious injury because of a paranormal entity. With her doctors at a loss for how to help her, I had to find a way they wouldn't dream of. If the cause of her suffering was paranormal, couldn't the cure be paranormal, as well?

My work was done in secret and in the dark. Not even Noah knew about it. After what had happened, it would freak everyone out. It freaked me out, at first. What if I contacted the Watcher or something like it? I wasn't even sure that the thing that had attacked my family was gone. Not even Beth, who knew more about the paranormal than anyone I'd ever met, could tell me that I was safe. She could only say that for now the Watcher was subdued, which made me think of it as being held back, but still struggling to escape.

Something had been after me and I'd stopped it, but that didn't mean it couldn't find a way back. It was my worst fear, and a solid reason to stay away from trying to make contact with the paranormal, but my fear was eclipsed by a powerful need to help Mom.

I waited, watching the lights on the meter and wanting so much for all of them to light up, but they didn't, and I felt de
feated because I knew I was just a desperate girl whispering in the dark and asking for something I might never get. But there was still a voice inside me, quiet and insistent, telling me to try one more time. I clutched the EMF reader more tightly in my hand. “Please.”

And something happened. Two things, right at the same time. Three lights on the meter lit up just as my cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. I ignored the phone and stared at the meter, willing it to light up again. Then I heard the tinkle of chimes from my phone alerting me to the fact that some one had left a message.

I stood up and, still holding the EMF reader, grabbed my phone, never once taking my eyes off the lights. I flipped open the phone and listened to Noah's voice.

“Hey. I thought you might still be up. Call me if you are, okay?”

Four lights flickered this time, and I took out the digital recorder and began speaking. “Is anyone here with me?”

It was how we always began an EVP session. The goal was to ask simple questions, wait for a few silent seconds, and then play back the recording to determine if it had captured an electronic voice phenomenon.

“Can you help me?” The EMF reader was showing only two lights now. I asked a few more questions, and by the time I was done, all signs of activity had vanished. Still, I was happy that after months of trying, it appeared that I had finally reached something.

After attaching headphones to the recorder, I sat back down on the floor and listened to what I had captured.

My first few questions seemed to go unanswered. The highly sensitive device picked up the sound of my own breathing, but not much else. I had been expecting more, even if
it was an undecipherable voice, but on the tape I was already asking my final question.

“Can you help me?”

And then, after a few seconds, a high-pitched whisper responded.

I am trying.

Annalise returned to Charleston the next morning. She en gulfed me in a firm hug and blinked back tears, then turned away before I could see her cry. I watched her car pull away, waving until it turned the corner and disappeared, and then walked down the hill to Avery's house. I pulled out my key, unlocked the front door and stepped inside. A low whimper greeted me from the top of the stairs.

“It's just me, Dante,” I called. When Avery's little dog didn't appear right away, I sighed and trudged upstairs to find him. He always hid in the same place: underneath Avery's empty bed.

It had taken only moments for the airy pink room I had spent so much time in to transform into something completely different. Gone were the delicate silver picture frames that used to dot Avery's dresser. The closet held several dangling hangers and a single formal dress from Homecoming. Even the bookshelf had been stripped of all but a few titles. It wasn't her room anymore, I thought. It was the space that used to be her room.

I had helped her pack the week before, pulling clothes out of her dresser and stacking books she thought she'd need.

“This should be enough, right?” Avery had surveyed the half-dozen plastic storage bins that sat on her bedroom floor. They'd reminded me of oversize building blocks. “I mean, I'll be back over Labor Day weekend if I need anything.”

“I don't know,” I'd said. “I don't think they have stores in Ohio. You might be in trouble with only—” I pried open the lid closest to me “—twenty pairs of shoes? Wow.”

“I need those.” Avery swatted at my hand. “Besides, it took a lot of work to get them all into one bin, so don't mess anything up.”

I wished that I could mess everything up. I wished I could make Avery stay here instead of driving off to Ohio for college. I wished I could keep at least some things in my life the same instead of sitting back and watching one more person slip away.

Avery sat on the floor, labeling her bins with a squeaky black marker. “That's it,” she said. “Last one.” We were quiet for a moment, both of us staring at the containers. Half her life and most of her room was packed inside them. They would be stuffed into the back of her mom's car and travel six hundred miles north. Six hundred miles away from me.

“Part of me wishes I wasn't going,” she said. I looked up, surprised. “I mean, what if I have a crazy roommate? What if the classes are completely over my head? I thought I was ready for this, but now that's it's almost here…” Her voice trailed off.

I fought the urge to say that her concerns were totally justified and that she should stay home and take the year off. Instead, I forced a smile. “It's going to be great,” I said. “You have nothing to worry about. And you won't be alone.”

The day Avery announced her college choice was also the
day that Jared revealed that he had been accepted to the same school. He and Avery would be in different dorms, but they would be able to see each other every day.

“You won't be alone, either,” Avery reminded me. “And with Shane and Trisha getting married, Noah will be like family.”

“So I'm dating a relative? Nice.”

“That's not what I meant.” Avery pushed a bin off to the side. “He'll be around more. You can spend time with him.”

“Yeah, but it's time spent with everyone else, too. I want more
alone
time with him.”

I couldn't remember the last time we'd gone out to dinner, just the two of us. Even the simplest moments, like making sandwiches in the kitchen, turned into a group event. Shane would show up or Dad would wander in or Trisha would require my opinion on wedding favors, and whatever conversation Noah and I had been having stalled.

Dante had trotted into the room. He ignored me and immediately went to Avery and curled up in her lap. “What's going to happen to him?” I asked.

“He's going to have a rough adjustment.” Avery scratched behind Dante's ears. “Unless I can convince my very best friend to stop by once in a while and check on him?”

“He hates me.” And I wasn't too fond of him. We'd reached a strange understanding: he acted as if I didn't exist and I pretended not to notice.

“He doesn't hate you,” Avery said. “And once I leave, he'll be lonely. Mom will be at work all the time, so it'd be nice if you came by to walk him, you know?”

“I didn't think Dante took walks,” I said. “I thought he ran around in a hamster wheel.”

“Funny.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Please? For me?”

“That pleading look doesn't work on me.” I shook my head. “But you're my best friend, so yes, I'll do it.”

She clapped her hands together, startling Dante. “But if he bites me it's over,” I said. “Got that, Dante? I bite back.”

Now I was in the empty room, crouched on my hands and knees in an effort to coax Dante out from beneath the bed. “Come on,” I urged. “One little walk. I promised Avery, okay? Do it for her.”

The mention of his owner's name caused Dante's ears to prick up. Finally, he emerged. I gently scooped him up and took him downstairs, where his powder-blue leash dangled from a hook by the front door.

“It's nice outside,” I told him. “You'll see.”

He gave me an unconvinced look. I was sure he blamed me for Avery leaving, and now he was resigned to putting up with the brief walks and random treats I offered him. It wasn't much of a consolation prize.

Outside, it was warm but not too hot yet. I slipped on my sunglasses and began walking up the hill, Dante trotting in front of me. The neighborhood slumbered in typical Sunday-morning mode. I let Dante determine our slow pace, which gave me the opportunity to gaze at the houses that made up my familiar street. Each house followed the same nonthreatening neutral color palette. Personal touches included a few cement lawn ornaments or decorative rocks or a basket of flowers.

I liked our neighborhood, even if I didn't feel as if I completely belonged here. I didn't know any of my neighbors by name. There was Lady Who Always Sat on Her Porch Talking on Her Cell Phone, Man Who Washed His Car Three Times a Week and Family With Screaming Twin Boys. I wondered who I was to them. Girl Who Walked Best Friend's Dog? No,
they probably knew my face from what had happened inside our house months earlier. Girl Whose Mother Was Attacked.

When we were halfway up the hill, Dante came to an abrupt stop. He sniffed the air, then whimpered.

“What is it? You smell a bigger dog? A squirrel?” He was looking at the street. “Don't worry,” I assured him. “I won't let a squirrel get you.”

Dante responded by crouching down. His eyes were still focused on the street, trained toward the top of the hill, but I didn't see anything unusual.

“Come on, there's nothing there.” I tugged at the leash, and Dante whimpered again. “I can see my house from here. If you walk with me, we'll stop there and I'll give you a treat.”

As I was debating whether to drag him up the hill or carry him, a car came into view. Sunlight glared off the windshield, so I couldn't see the driver. The car crawled forward slowly, as if the driver was searching for a particular address and was afraid he'd go too far and miss it. The car stopped in front of my house. A camera emerged from the side window and the driver snapped some pictures.

I angrily scooped up Dante and stomped up the hill. If some guy was going to take pictures of my house, I wanted to know who he was and what he wanted. But as I got closer to the burgundy-colored vehicle, its driver noticed me. Suddenly, the car lurched forward and sped past me. Dante burrowed in my arms as I watched the car reach the bottom of the street, turn around too quickly and speed back up the hill. Its tires squealed as it flew past me. The darkly tinted windows made it impossible to see anything inside, and the space where the license plate should have been was occupied by a paper temporary tag.

It took only a second for the car to vanish. I stood there, petting Dante's coarse fur in an effort to calm him down. He
was shaking as I carried him into my house and placed him gingerly on a kitchen chair while I searched the fridge for a treat that he would like. My own hands were shaking a little as I sifted through the drawer where we kept the cold cuts. What was going on? Maybe it was a curious fan, but if so, would he have sped away as soon as he saw me?

It's not the Watcher, I told myself. He's not driving around in a car. Calm down.

“Oh, good. There you are.” Dad walked into the kitchen and tossed a pile of mail onto the counter. He saw the plastic deli bag I'd retrieved from the fridge. “Making a sandwich?”

“Sort of. But it's not for me.” I motioned toward Dante, who was still curled up in a quivering ball of rattled nerves. “He got scared by a car,” I explained. There was no reason to tell Dad anything. He had enough to worry about, and if the demented driver was simply an embarrassed fan, I would be causing him unnecessary stress.

Dad sat in a chair across from Dante while I placed a pile of smoked turkey on a napkin. “So, I've decided to go see Mom,” he said. “I'm leaving in an hour. Can you be ready by then?”

A trip to see Mom took hours. We wouldn't return until close to midnight. “I start school tomorrow, remember?”

Dad nodded. “Right. Of course. Your first day of college.”

He had forgotten. I placed the meat in front of Dante, who sniffed at it, then began to lick it. “I guess I could go. If you think we can be back by dinner.”

There was no way that would happen, and we both knew it, but I didn't want Dad to think I was trying to get out of the visit. We were quiet, both of us watching Dante eat as if it were the most interesting event in the world.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Dad asked.

The question felt like a shove to the chest. I knew it was
coming, but I wasn't prepared. “Couple weeks ago. I went with Annalise.”

It had been a brief visit, one that my sister had insisted on. While she made a consistent effort to see Mom twice a week, I often found reasons why I couldn't go. During the first month after she had been hurt, I went to the hospital every day. I spent hours in her room, feeling the rhythm of the machines that kept her alive. Her heart monitor was a drum, softly tapping out a beat. Nurses checked her vitals every hour. They would smile at me before reaching for Mom's limp wrist. She was so pale, so still. She would look exactly the same if we laid her in a coffin, I thought.

Days passed, then weeks. The hopeful doctors decided that they'd done all they could and said Mom would be better off in a long-term care facility. Long-term. The suggestion behind the word terrified me. Would she remain in this motionless state for months? Years? Forever? The doctors didn't know. She had survived the critical first twenty-four hours. Only time would tell, they said. Head trauma took time to heal. But no one could tell us how much time. And after months of minuscule success—her finger twitched once when I held her hand—a part of me gave up.

How long can a person cling to hope before it becomes too much? I wanted to remember Mom as the laughing, determined person she had been, not the helpless body she had become. Seeing her lying in the crisp white bed, the monitors beeping steadily, reminded me that she was not the person I had always known. It hurt. And I was tired of hurting. I wouldn't give up on her, but it was easier to hold on to hope when I didn't have to look at her.

“I know it can be difficult,” Dad said, his voice soft. “But I also know that it matters. Us being there matters. I believe that.”

Did he? Before the attack, Dad had never trusted anything that wasn't based purely in science. When had he transformed? I almost wished that he hadn't. Everyone was changing without me.

“I'll go next time,” I said. “I promise.”

“I'm going to hold you to that.” Dad crossed the room and kissed my forehead. “See you tomorrow, Charlotte.”

“Have a good trip, Dad.”

After he left, I flipped through the mail. A thick white envelope had already been opened. I checked the return address. It was from the insurance company. I stole a glance at the bill enclosed and gasped when I saw the amount due. Dad's car didn't cost that much. I resolved to assist Shane more. The looming DVD deadline had to be met.

Dante finished scarfing down his turkey and I walked him back down the hill. Avery's mom was away for the weekend, so I made sure Dante had fresh water and added some kibble to his dish. Then I took him upstairs and put him on Avery's bed. He liked to be petted as he fell asleep, a job I hated at first but now found somewhat soothing. As the little dog drifted off into sleep, I looked around at the bare room. Avery had left behind so little. Just pink walls and a depressed pet.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed her number. It went straight to voice mail, but I didn't leave a message. Before I allowed myself to plunge deeper into pity, I called Noah. He picked up on the second ring, and before he even said a word, I felt better.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“You could say that.” I told him all about the strange burgundy car. Noah was one of the few people I trusted completely, and he was the only one who knew my biggest secret: I had seen the other side, and that brief experience had triggered the Watcher.

“If you see it again, you let me know, okay?” Noah shifted into protective mode, something he seemed to do a lot lately.

“I will.” I looked out Avery's window. There wasn't much of a view, just the side yard and part of her neighbor's house. “What about you?” I asked. “How was your day?”

“Interesting. I spoke to Jeff.”

“Your brother?” Noah didn't talk about his older brothers much. I knew that they had both left home as soon as they'd graduated high school and enlisted in the army. Noah rarely saw them.

“Yeah. He called from someplace near Kandahar. I don't think I'm supposed to know that, though.” He chuckled. “Everything with him is always so top secret.”