First Impression (A Shadow Maven Paranormal) (5 page)

When I’m done, I sniffle again. My nose is running worse now.

Matt bites his lip, and his nervous leg jostle returns. “This really happened. The Old Schoolhouse is really haunted. I wonder if we could communicate with the spirits through a séance.”

Ben huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s the first time that he looks dubious.

Matt notices too and narrows his eyes on his cousin. “What the hell do you know?”

Ben’s jaw tightens and his voice sounds hard and raspy, somehow even deeper than usual because it’s low. “There are only two kinds of haunting. Impressions and possessions. This is clearly an impression.”

“Huh?”

“There are no such things as ghosts in the sense that Hollywood and charlatans attempt to propagate. They cannot be communicated with.”

My mouth falls open. Ben speaks with such authority that I can’t help but believe him.

But Matt shakes his head. “Just because you were raised by monks for a while doesn’t make you an expert on everything spiritual. What Chira just said is eye-witness proof.”

“Proof of an impression.” Ben leans in. “What she just described was like a movie on replay. The impression of a life was imprinted in the place where violence occurred. That much is obvious. That’s the first sort of ‘ghost.’”

Monks? Did Matt just say monks? Monks and owls? Ben seems to have quite a strange upbringing for sure. I nod. “That actually makes sense. The girl looked like she’d been hurt, and she ran through us like we weren’t there.”

“Exactly.”

Matt frowns. “Okay, know-it-all. What about the other kind…possession?”

“Often people have demons infecting their lives. Familial demons that follow around a family for generations can often haunt them or a family home. Demons who don’t want to let go of a particularly violent host may also remain where the host last resided. A possession haunting is not the spirit of someone who was once living. It is a demon and can only be removed through exorcism.”

Matt swallows. He’s gone pale again.

And I’m a little freaked out as well. “How do you know so much? Did the monks teach you that?”

Ben’s eyes narrow, and his jaw tightens. Without another word, he gets up and walks away.

I blink hard and look at Matt. “Was it something I said?”

Matt snaps out of his terrified stupor and shakes his head. “I rag him about the monks all the time, but he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

“Monks, like, for real? Where on earth was that at?”

“In Europe somewhere. I don’t really know.”

Mrs. Brown puts a hand on my arm, and her sudden presence makes me jump. “Chira, would you like to visit with Tasha now?”

Relief, fear, and elation wrestle each other in my chest. “Yes.”

Tasha’s small room has a window facing a separate nurse’s area where the lights are off. A nurse sits at the desk and has full view of four different observation rooms at once. I see my friend long before we actually step into the small space where she lies. At five-foot-one, Tasha has always been small to me, but with tubes sticking out of her face and arms and with a blanket pulled up to her waist, she looks downright tiny. The sight of her constricts my throat again, but my eyes stay dry. Instead my nose runs more.

Mrs. Brown’s arm remains around my shoulder as we walk through the open doorway. She nods toward the chair that sits next to Tasha’s side. “Go ahead, sweetie.”

I nod and take the seat. The constant beeping of the heart monitor is reassuring, but annoying at once. I take Tasha’s hand in mine and am stricken by her chilled fingers. “Hey, girl. You don’t look so hot there.”

Her skin looks slightly ashen. I wonder how much blood she’s lost. Mrs. Brown gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got fifteen minutes until they close visitor hours.”

I bite my lip and nod.

Then Mrs. Brown leaves me alone with my best friend.

I turn toward her and listen to the beeping and the steady rhythm of the breathing machine next to her. Anger wells up in the pit of my stomach. “Why do you always have to be such a chicken? You’re tougher than that, you know? I was right there next to you. It’s not like I would have let anything happen to you. You’ve got my back, and I have yours. Isn’t that what we always agreed on?”

I’m whisper shouting, and the strain on my throat makes it ache. “I can’t believe you ran. You wouldn’t wait for me. And it really hurt. I really felt abandoned. But what’s worse is that when I couldn’t keep up with you, I felt like I was the one abandoning you. Like I was the one who wasn’t there for you when you needed me. And that made me feel…like crap, you know?”

Tears run down my cheeks, proving that I wasn’t quite dry yet.

“You better get well and fast. I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive you if you don’t.” My voice cracks, and a knot gets lodged in it. I can’t say anything else, so I just squeeze her limp hand.

I slip into my desk
in first period the next day at school, feeling like I’m dragging my body around like it weighs twenty pounds more than it did yesterday. Throughout class, I can’t stop staring at the empty desk in front of mine. My hands seem to work of their own accord, taking notes while my ears listen to the teacher, but my mind is elsewhere. It’s like when I’m distracted while reading a book and find myself having read the same paragraph three times, and forgetting it immediately afterward.

My first three classes go this way, and when the bell rings for lunch block, I continue to sit at my desk until everyone else has left. A hand rests on my shoulder, and then Mrs. Blaylock, my geometry teacher, sits at the desk in front of me. Tasha’s desk.

“Look, Chira, I know that something very traumatic happened to you yesterday, but you’re going to have to buck up under the pressure. You can’t let things get to you so hard. She’s going to be all right.”

How can I trust her? She’s probably a parent, too—more lies.

But still, I force a smile. “I’m fine.”

One of Mrs. Blaylock’s penciled eyebrows lift. It is rumored that the heavyset middle-aged woman had been a model. Her garish make up and obvious plastic surgery make it obvious that she’s at least a little vain. “Sure you are, but just in case, maybe you should go see the school counselor?”

My stomach drops like I’m on a rollercoaster. That’s just what I need is for everyone to decide I’m crazy on top of everything else they label me. I shake my head and smile bigger, standing up and shoving my book into my messenger bag. “Really, Mrs. Blaylock. Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. I’m just really tired from staying up late last night. I’m sure I’ll be better tomorrow. You’ll see.”

She gives me a cautious once over and then nods. “Okay, Chira. I’ll take your word for it. But if I don’t see a marked improvement quickly, I’ll write up that recommendation.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I rush out of her classroom as fast as my feet can take me. The hallways are already desolate, and the bell rings the moment the door behind me shuts. Technically I could get in trouble for still being out in the hall. I start walking. But heading to the cafeteria has totally lost its appeal. I’m not hungry, and without Tasha…I’ll feel her absence that much more. When I get to the stairwell, I head up instead of down.

What am I doing? I don’t really care if Ben’s up there or not. I’d rather be alone, to tell you the truth. But a spark within me still hopes that he’ll be there.

The wind pushes against the door, so it takes all of my strength to get it open. The moment I step aside, it slams shut behind me. I close my eyes at the loud bang. Anyone in the hall or stairwell will know where I am now.

“Are you following me again, Sniffles?”

The deep timbre of Ben’s voice rings the core within me, and somehow it comforts me. I feel a little better. I don’t know why. He’s standing at the chain-link fence, the owl plucking jerky from his hand.

I lean back against the cold metal panel of the door, the wind whipping the hair from my face. The sky is grey today, like my mood. I shrug. “Actually, no. I sort of hoped to be here alone.”

He nods and gives the last of his jerky to the bird. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His red tie hangs from one of his pockets, flapping in the wind like a dog’s tongue, and his white school shirt is untucked. The breeze has made his hair even more messy than usual. “Okay, no problem. I’ll go.”

His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the door handle. My hand reaches out of its own accord and grips his forearm. “Wait.”

Pine and mint…and a touch of beef jerky. But he stops, his hand still on the door handle. He hasn’t taken a step; he hasn’t pulled his arm from my grasp.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m feeling brave for some reason. Maybe it’s not bravery. Maybe it’s just that I don’t care about the consequences right now. So I blurt, “Your name’s Ben. But your uncle and cousin’s last name is Benson. How does that work?”

I didn’t realize how tense his muscular arm is until he relaxes it.

“My uncle is on my mom’s side. Her last name was Benson, and she named me that.”

“So Ben is short for Benson, not Benjamin?”

He quirks a half smile and nods.

The breeze blows harder, and I release him to wrap my arms around myself. “Why do you wear brown contacts?”

He frowns and his jaw tightens. The sharp angle of his jaw is set, and the dimple in his chin becomes more pronounced.

For a moment, I’m sure I’ve gone too far. He’ll probably leave like he did at the hospital, when I asked about the monks.

But instead, he leans over and puts his finger to his eye, he removes the contact lens and after holding his eye shut for a moment, he opens it.

His black iris swirls with color, like a kaleidoscope. Greens, reds, and yellow intermingle and don’t stop moving, like water on top of a puddle of oil. My breath hitches and my knees grow weak. The wind takes a momentary pause as if the sky itself held its breath. His eyes search mine for a reaction, and I do my best to remain stoic, but instead my mouth betrays me. “It’s so pretty.”

Ben blinks hard and takes a step back. His eyebrows are raised and his eyes are wide. Then he shakes his head and replaces his contact lens.

My hair gets whipped into my face again by the wind and the moment is gone. I pull a strand from my mouth and sniffle again.

“What are you really doing up here?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I just…I didn’t want to be alone.”

His eyes narrow. “You said you came up here to be alone. You don’t make sense.”

I swallow. It’s my turn to answer the tough question, so I suck it up and I do. “Without Tasha, I’m alone in this school. No one likes me. They all believe a lie about me that someone made up, but I did nothing but perpetuate. Stupidly. So I’m alone even when I’m surrounded by a crowd. But I guess…I guess I came up here, because maybe—I thought you might feel that way, too.”

His eyes dart back and forth between both of mine, and his face is hard again. “I understand.”

“So is it okay that I came here. I’m sorry if I—”

“Yes, it’s okay. Steve and I were thinking it was too quiet up here anyway. We needed some annoying questions to break the monotony.”

I shiver but smile. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “Any other stupid questions?”

I try to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from asking, but the question comes out anyway. “So were you really raised by monks?”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks away.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay.” He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me around to the other side of the door. “Let’s sit here, out of the wind.”

I nod and sit with my back against the concrete wall. He sits down beside me, and suddenly I realize that we’d been nearly yelling that whole conversation over the wind. It’s so much quieter here.

“My mother left me with an uncle on my dad’s side. Brother Francisco happens to be a monk in northern Portugal. But he didn’t live in a monastery. I was not quite a one-year-old at the time. I lived there with him until I was nine, when my mother…died. Her mother, my grandmother, had her lawyer search for me when I wasn’t found with my mom. Then I went to live with her. When she died three years ago, I’ve kind of floated around between my three uncles on my mom’s side. Uncle Matt is the youngest, and the last one to take me.”

Only one word could make it past my constricted throat. “Why?”

His eyes met mine again. A shade of ordinary brown hides a rainbow of color beneath.

“I…am different.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

I shrug, but my eyes don’t leave his. My arms are wrapped around my knees, and I rest my head against them, offering him as confident a smile as I can manage. “I hear I’m easy to talk to.”

He nods and changes his position so that he’s sitting like I am. “That’s an understatement. It’s like there’s something about you that’s familiar. That makes me want to open up and confess everything to you, because I know that I’ll feel better when I’m done, not worse…like I usually do.”

His voice cracks and it makes me sad. I fight the urge to put an arm around him. He’s not Tasha. Suddenly, it occurs to me. “It’s about your eyes, isn’t it?”

He stiffens, but nods. “Like most babies, I was born with blue eyes, and for a while, after they changed, I think my mother handled it. She was a free spirit, I’m told, and continued travelling with a gypsy band when she was pregnant with me. After I was born nothing changed. She was into witchcraft and occult practices since her teenage years. When my eyes changed, an elder gypsy declared I was demon possessed. He wanted to kill me. But instead of doing that, she gave me to Brother Francisco in the hopes that the religious environment would exorcise my demon and keep me safe.”

“That’s…terrible.”

He nods. “I learned a lot from Brother Francisco. He was training me to serve the church when he discovered that I could see.”

I scrunch my forehead and sniffle. “What do you mean?”

The owl on the top of the fence sashayed sideways toward us. Ben got a faraway look in his eyes, like he was seeing through the bird, and not at him. “I’m a Shadow Maven. I see the truth that most people can’t. Like impressions or demons. I can see them both.”

“But I saw the ghost myself,” I breathe.

He nods. “Emotional energy is what allows the impression to break through and play back. If there’s a group of people with high emotional energy, they might see an impression. If there’s one person with a heightened fear response, the impression will feed on that emotional energy as well.”

“But you can see it regardless of the emotion?”

He nods.

“Did you…you know…actually have a demon?”

His piercing gaze returns to me, and his eyes narrow. “No, I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” My stomach growls, interrupting me.

Ben pushes off the wall and stands, offering me his hand. Although the flicker of anger is gone, his face is set in that hard, walled-up state again. “You skipped lunch again. Come on. Let’s get to the cafeteria before lunch block ends.”

I take his warm hand and marvel at the rough texture. He pulls me gently to my feet and releases my grip. Suddenly I feel lightheaded, and my knees buckle. His arms are there again, catching me before I can fall. Pine and mint. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of him but my world is still spinning.

His voice is hard. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

I push off him and cross my arms over my chest. I’m tired of swooning into this guy’s arms. I’ve shown him far too much weakness in the last two days and try to put steel in my voice. “I’m fine.”

He grabs me by the wrist again and starts for the door. “Come on, we’ve only got ten minutes left. Let’s go.”

He’s not being too rough with me, so I let him drag me toward the stairwell. The door is hard to pull open, but he gets it with one sharp tug. He stays just ahead of me, checking back on occasion to make sure I’m right behind him. When we get to the cafeteria, there’s no line. He grabs a carton of chocolate milk and shoves it into my hand. “Drink this now.”

“I haven’t paid for it yet.”

“They won’t care. We’ll pay for it when we get to the register. It’s not like you’re going to hide the carton in your messenger bag, is it?”

When I stand there, looking at him dumbly, he takes the carton from my hand and opens it with a quick gesture and puts it back in my grip.

“There, now you didn’t open it. Better?”

I shrug and take a sip while he watches. He nods, turns around and takes a tray, grabbing sandwiches and fruit at random, and in five seconds we’re at the register. I dig through my bag to pay, but he’s already got his wallet out and hands the cashier a ten.

His fingers wrap around my wrist again, and he pulls me toward the nearest empty table. “Sit.”

I do as he commands, even though I kind of want to rebel. But I’m just too tired, and my stomach growls again.  He puts the tray in front of me and sits across the table, grabbing half the food for himself.