Dust to Dust (24 page)

Eli's eyes are big and round. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he says, but it's clear that he does.

And then, suddenly, a gust of wind passes through the room and Eli's bedroom door slams shut.

Our eyes all flick over to the tightly closed windows.

“Weird,” says Nick with a smile. I wink at him. It's Thatcher, willing to bend some rules to help us right now.

“Are you sure you don't have it?” I ask Eli again. “Maybe if you think really hard you'll remember something you had no idea you forgot.”

“You sound crazy,” he says. “You know that, right?”

And then the bulb of his ceiling light shatters above us, showering the floor with pieces of glass.

Eli jumps, but the rest of us stay calm.

“We're not crazy. And we're not the only ones who want to know where the ring is,” says Dylan. “As you can see, we have powerful friends.”

“Dead-people friends, actually,” Carson says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I really have no idea,” says Eli, his voice trembling now. I glance over at his bed and see a stuffed teddy bear there, one he maybe still sleeps with. I feel a pang of guilt that we're here, scaring him.

“Okay, enough,” I say. “He really doesn't know. We should go.”

We start to file out of Eli's room, but he follows us to the front door. “Are y'all just gonna leave me here?”

“It's your house,” Nick says.

“But I'm obviously not alone!” He's pretty freaked out, not that any of us can blame him.

The rest of us look at one another, the same question in our eyes. Eli is as involved in this as any of us. He's been possessed; he's in mortal danger. He deserves to know what's happening, even if he can be a jerk sometimes.

We all seem to understand this in an instant, almost like we're sharing thoughts for a moment. At once, everyone nods.

And then Dylan turns to Eli and says, “Come with us.”

Leo Cutler's family still lives in the same place where he grew up, according to Mr. Internet, and when we check the address against Dylan's vortex map, it seems like it's in a safe zone. We looked up Reena's old address, too, just in case, but it seems like her family has moved away because the house she lived in has been sold twice since her death.

As we drive to Leo's, I tell Eli everything. Any normal person would never believe what we recount, but Eli has experienced things for himself—at the bonfire at Folly Beach, on the train tracks during his “dodge,” in the hallway just this week, and now at his own house. I almost feel sorry for him, but at the same time I'm glad he's here with us. He's been such a part of this, almost from the beginning.

Eli folds his arms tightly across his chest as he listens to me talk, but he doesn't say a word in response. When I'm done, Carson waves her hand in front of his face, but his eyes just keep staring
forward. I see something in his expression, though . . . a spark of understanding.

“I know it's hard to take in, Eli,” I say. “But I can see that you know that what I'm telling you is true. And you're involved, too.”

He nods but doesn't talk yet.

“Let's give him a sec to get over the shock,” says Nick, turning up the radio. “He'll rally soon.”

As we approach Leo's small split-level home, for some reason the first thing I notice is the chain-link fence around the backyard, which looks broken and sad. There are no cars in the driveway, so I figure we'll try the door, maybe find an open window. The front screen is off its hinges, I notice, as we walk up to it.

Eli stays in the van, though. I guess he's still in a state of shock.

As I reach for the Cutlers' doorknob, I hear a shout from around the side of the house, where Carson went to scout. “Over here! Window!”

I turn the knob just in case, but it's locked, so we head to the window, where Carson is already hoisting herself inside.

“The girl is fearless,” says Dylan admiringly.

I look around to see if any neighbors might be watching, but I don't see anyone. “I think we're all being pretty brave right now,” I say, wondering how I got to the point where I had enough courage to commit trespassing or breaking and entering or whatever official crime we're guilty of right now.

Nick goes in next, and he pulls me up and in through the window. I know instantly that this was Leo's bedroom—it's crazy, but I can still sense some of his energy here. It kind of feels like being
lightly pricked by a thorn, but over and over again. This isn't his room anymore, of course. There's a sewing machine in the corner, and off to the side there's an exercise bike with laundry draped over it. The closet has no door, and I see a folded-up ironing board and a few winter coats hanging in there.

But on the walls, I see Leo.

There's a bulletin board with photos of him in football uniforms, starting at around age five, it looks like. There's a third-place certificate from a school talent show, for singing! He wore a blue tux to a junior high dance. I have to smile at the personality I see in these photos. It's the Leo I met, but the good side. The funny, jocular, loyal friend Thatcher must have known before he became a crazy poltergeist.

On one wall is a huge pen-and-ink drawing of a tree, with branches and roots spreading out in all directions.

“Leo was an artist?” asks Dylan.

“I don't think so,” I say. “I'm sure that's someone else's.”

Dylan leans in to the lower right corner of the drawing. “Well, he signed it.”

I lean back and stare at his creation.
Leo was an artist.
It's hard to imagine. In the Prism he was all about destruction, not creation.

“I don't really know where to look,” says Carson. She's rifling through the sewing basket. “Oh, this is cool.”

She picks up a gold cuff link. “LC,” she says.

“His initials.” I take it from her and turn it over in my palm. And when I hold it in my hand, I have this gut feeling that Leo has not been back here for a long time. That it would hurt him,
somehow, to remember what he used to be.

“The ring's not here,” I tell them, handing the cuff link back to Carson.

“How do you know?” Dylan is starting to open the drawers of a wooden dresser along the wall, but I put my hand on his arm.

“No,” I say. “Don't. This family has suffered enough.”

The feeling of thorns is becoming more intense, and I want to get out of here, to leave the Cutlers alone. Just as I'm about to swing one leg out of the window, I hear a low growl from the ground below us.

Nick, Carson, Dylan, and I all lean out to look.

Doberman.
I should have figured. Such a Leo dog.

“Nice puppy,” whispers Nick.

The dog is not amused. He barks once, loudly, and bares his sharp teeth.

“Front door,” whispers Carson.

We back away from the window, hoping the dog isn't smart enough to figure out where the other exits are.

“One . . . two . . . three!” yells Dylan as we burst open the front door and start running toward the car where Eli's waiting.

“Go, go, go!” shouts Nick, who's bringing up the rear.

The dog spots us, but we're already down the driveway and we have a lead on him. We are screaming for Eli to open the doors. He's in the backseat of Nick's van, and when he sees us running, he does open one large sliding door. We all cram in on top of him and slam it shut in the dog's face.

Eli groans from the bottom of the heap.

Nick, Carson, Dylan, and I all mumble some form of
sorry
and move into our own seats. The dog is still barking outside the driver's-side window. Nick presses the lock button.

“Just in case,” he says, and it makes me laugh.

“‘There is no fear in chasing. There is fear in being chased.' Jack Nicklaus.”

“The golfer?” asks Eli.

“Yes,” says Dylan. “I know he was talking about leading on the course, but it feels appropriate anyway.”

“You spoke!” I say to Eli.

“Well, y'all piled up on me!” he says. “It kinda snapped me out of it.”

I grin at him and then I look around the van. Carson is panting from the run, her cheeks red with effort. Nick is sweating up a storm. Dylan looks surprisingly cool for just having sprinted for his life. His glasses even stayed in place. And Eli . . . well, he still seems a little dazed, but that's okay. The prickling sensation from inside the house is gone, and I realize that I feel a happiness deep down that I haven't felt since . . . I don't know when. I feel less alone than I have in years.

I let out a little
yawp
, almost involuntarily, and everyone looks at me funny. “Sorry,” I say. Then I smile at the Doberman, who's making his way back to his house. “But that was kind of fun.”

Carson pulls me in for a hug and says, “That's my Callie! Now let's get back to being the chasers and not the chasees.”

Nick starts up the car. “Where to next?”

“Something is telling me that Leo still has the ring with him,” I
say. “Wherever he and Reena are.”

Dylan nods. “I think you're right.”

“So what do we do?” Carson sighs.

I close my eyes and try to tune in to Thatcher, to see if he's with us. I don't feel that warm impression of his soul, just a cool emptiness.

But maybe it's good that he's not here, because even though he seems to understand why I can't just sit home and wait for this whole mess to be resolved, I know he wouldn't approve of what I'm about to do, what I
have
to do.

So I look at Nick, and I don't ask. I just tell him, “Take me to a vortex.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I'M STANDING ON THE east side of the same cemetery that I visited before, but I'm across the grounds from where Thatcher is buried. The last time I came here with Carson, I felt my energy being taken; I felt the poltergeists testing me. I know it's a vortex, and it's also up on a hill, so if I stand in the right spot, my friends can still see me. Plus it's the least populated area I could think of.

Nick's van is parked down the hill and across the street. They're watching, but I've told them not to interfere, no matter what they see happening.

Carson and Nick argued with me, and Eli sat in confused silence when I tried to explain why I
had
to get to a vortex to confront Leo. “I know he'll come if I'm there. I need to go alone, so they can't attempt a possession. Reena and Leo will show—I'm sure of it. And I'll be able to get the ring.”

“What makes you think you'll be able to take the ring from that guy?” asked Nick. “In those photos his neck looked as thick as a tree trunk.”

“They're losing energy,” I told him. “They're becoming weaker by the day, and they haven't been back to the Prism to recharge—that's important. I can do it.”

Dylan was the only one who supported me from the start. “Callie's right. We need the ring back—they obviously took it for a reason, so that she'd be without protection when they attempt possession. Her going alone is our best shot.”

And so here I am. At first I just wait, listening to the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the squirrels under the few trees planted in the middle of the hill.
It's not a bad place to be buried
, I think. I sit down in the grass and run my hands over its soft texture, focusing on the living world around me instead of looking at the individual stones. I mapped out Leo's grave, and Reena's. They're close together, and I wonder if their families, and Thatcher's, all went to the same church. Probably.

I pick a yellow dandelion and play with its petals. It always seemed strange to me that these bright yellow dots of sun are considered weeds.

After a few minutes, a plane flies overhead and with its sound comes the sensation I've been waiting for. I feel a jolt, a charge, and a rush of energy. Despite the fact that I expected this, fear starts to creep into my skin. The atmosphere feels suddenly cold as ice, like a frost has fallen over me. An August freeze in Charleston? Not likely. Then I hear a rumble, like approaching thunder.

The sky darkens; the sun is hiding behind a fast-approaching storm cloud. Before I can even stand, the heavens open up and a hard rain begins to fall, drenching me and the hallowed ground at my feet. A flash of lightning streaks across the clouds, illuminating the silhouettes of two figures who are striding toward me with purpose and determination.

Reena. Leo.

I look to where the van is parked, down the hill and across the street. My friends should be safe.

This is good
. The poltergeists don't have a body to take, and I can fight them off. I know I can. I practiced at the bookstore—I am capable of a lot in these high-energy spots. As I rise to meet them, I wonder at the fact that not very long ago, I thought these two were my friends. I even considered them more helpful than Thatcher when I was haunting, especially when they showed me how to manipulate energy to touch and control the weather. But it was all wrong—it was the wrong method for the wrong reasons.

I straighten my back and give them a smile that I hope is convincingly confident.

When they get within a few feet of me, I'm surprised at how clearly I can see them. Their bodies look almost as solid as mine—their eyes glow with an energy that surprises and intimidates me.

“I
knew
this was a vortex,” I say under my breath.

“What was that, Callie?” asks Reena, her shiny black hair dry and full, despite the sheets of harsh rain all around us.

“This spot,” I say. “It's a vortex.”

Leo laughs. “She's learned a lot,” he says. Then he turns to me.
“Of course, Callie. Our bodies are buried here, aren't they? The bodies of ghosts like us have powerful energy, even after death.”