The Discovery (11 page)

Mr. and Mrs. Carmickle are staying in a hotel; their kids opted to stay with friends who offered them rooms. Like my parents did. Penny Carmickle is bunking with Kaitlin. I'm sure it'll help her heal from the fact that she just lost everything, including all of her precious video games that she and Kaitlin perfect every day after school.

"That sucks big-time," Becca says.

"His parents have awesome insurance though," Stephanie says between bites of spicy tuna roll. "The fire department said it had to be a wiring problem because of the age of the house. Sean said they're going to demolish it and build something brand-new with the insurance payout."

"At least something positive will come from it," Farah adds.

I stare at Farah. "It wasn't bad wiring in an old house. It was Xander the Doll. He is out for revenge."

Farah's eyes twinkle at me as she laughs hard. "Oh, Kendall, you're so cute with your psychic senses. You know I don't believe in any of those curses and stuff."

"Obviously," Celia says. "Since you were the one who snapped the pictures of the doll. Didn't you listen to Mr. Pfeiffer's stories of people who were cursed after that?"

"I did," Stephanie says.

"Me too," Courtney agrees.

Farah snickers. "Whatever. Pass the wasabi, Steph."

Frustrated, I lay my elbows on the table and shove my hands into my scalp, rubbing at the headache—a real one—that's developed as I try to get through to everyone.

"How do you explain what happened to Dragon?" Becca says.

"Maybe he hit an oil patch," Farah suggests.

"Maybe something distracted him and freaked him out," Celia says. "And what about Sean's house? Bursting into flames from testing water with litmus paper? I don't think so. That's not how it works."

Courtney's face becomes ashen. "Y'all, we should listen to them. They know their stuff."

"Tru' dat," Stephanie says.

Rolling her eyes, Farah asks, "What am I supposed to do to remove this alleged curse?"

"You need to write a letter of apology to Xander the Doll."

She waves a chopstick at us dismissively. "I love y'all and I know you're, like, all into the paranormal and stuff, but I don't believe it." She uses her chopsticks to emphasize her points. "First off, I have a paper on Lord Byron due Monday, my opera recital is Saturday—and I have the lead solo—and I have to get my nails done." Farah puts down the chopsticks and spreads her fingers for emphasis.

I've never heard anyone who can sing like Farah. She's like an opera diva at seventeen. But that doesn't excuse the fact that she toyed with something dark and refuses to deal with it.

"You've got to do it, Farah," Celia begs.

"I don't have time, hon."

"Everyone who took a picture with Xander the Doll has had something bad befall them," I say with great passion in my voice. "Dragon, Sean..."

"Not Jim," Farah says.

At that precise moment, across the caf, there's a horrendous clamor around Jim Roach's table. Roachie stands up and grabs at his throat, coughing and gagging while his face turns beet red.

"Someone help!" Kyle screams out. "He's choking!"

"Oh my God!" Courtney yells.

"I don't know the Heimlich, do you?" I ask Celia and Becca.

Both shake their heads.

Roachie's face is getting redder and redder and he's trying to breathe.

Chaos ensues in the lunchroom as people run around trying to help. Lucas Hesse, a football player, tries to hoist Jim up from behind, but he's not doing it right. He's only making matters worse.

Then I hear laughter over the screaming and yelling. A squeaky high laugh with a disturbing tone to it. I swear it must be Xander the Doll. He's here. Out of his case. He. Is. Here.

One of the lunch ladies pushes everyone aside and comes to Jim's rescue. She laces her hands around his middle and gives the heave-ho several times, finally dislodging the wedged sushi. Jim collapses onto the table, huffing and puffing, gasping in the precious air.

I turn steely eyes on Farah. "You were saying?"

"I didn't even do anything and I'm going to write a letter," Stephanie says. She had previously been the victim of some pretty nasty paranormal activity that threatened her house and her home life.

"Me too," Courtney says. "We'll do it at study hall."

"Fine ... whatever," Farah says. She turns to Stephanie. "Write the letter and sign my name to it as well. I'll be on the computer researching Lord Byron. Someone who actually existed and something I'm being graded on." She gathers up the remnants of her lunch and snags her giant Coach bag. "And, y'all, don't forget my recital Saturday. I'm doing an aria from
Madama Butterfly
and I totally rock."

I smile at her, somewhat relieved. "I'd love to come. And I'll bring my boyfriend."

"You do that," Farah says. "He's a cutie."

Shelby-Nichole stops by the table before Farah leaves. "Hey, y'all. Remember we're doing yearbook group pics on Friday. We'll do individual ones as well."

"I'll e-mail the squad a reminder of what uniform to wear," Courtney says.

"Awesome," Shelby-Nichole says. "Oh, and Kendall, I'll need your help after school today."

"Sure thing."

Good.

Something to keep my mind off the mayhem going on around me.

Hopefully the apology letter to Xander will be enough to appease him.

A
FTER SCHOOL
, I
GO TO
D
IVINING
W
OMAN
to do some readings and talk to Loreen.

Stephanie Crawford texted me that she and Courtney wrote the apology letter to Xander the Doll, and the two of them signed it, as did Farah. Actually, Farah had Stephanie sign her name. Hopefully that'll be enough.

Time for work. I'm not exactly in the mood to read other people's futures right now, but folks count on me. I close my eyes, surround myself in God's protective white light, and get down to business.

Mrs. Harmon from the yarn store is worried about whether a large mole on her back is cancerous. I'm psychic, not a doctor, and I would never give advice about such a deadly disease.

"You need to call your doctor and have it looked at," I say to her, stacking the tarot cards and refusing to make a medical diagnosis. "He's the one who will have answers for you."

She widens her eyes like this is the smartest thing she's ever heard. "Why, Kendall, you're so intuitive. I'll call the doctor tomorrow."

She pays Loreen twenty dollars at the register and leaves a five-dollar tip for me.

I feel like a charlatan taking a tip for something so obvious; I just told her what any normal person would have.

Then Morgan Brown from the flower shop sits down opposite me wanting a reading. She is worried that her boyfriend will never propose to her, and she's inching toward the conclusion of her childbearing years. She wants the cards to tell her if and when it will happen or whether she should break up with him. With my psychic vision I can see that the owner of the Michelin tire store, Jaden Spees, has been saving up money to get Morgan a ring. I don't want to ruin his surprise, but in the meantime, I need her to not scare him away.

"Your relationship is very solid. You can't push things."

Morgan is quite impatient. "Excuse my French, Kendall, but Jaden needs to either shit or get off the pot."

"Morgan!" Loreen calls out to her.

"Well, it's true! I arrange flowers for everyone's wedding in this town. I want to be the bride. I want to be a wife and mother. I need it to be my turn."

"It will be," I say to her. "You just have to be patient, and don't put any pressure on him, just enjoy being together. When the time is right, it'll happen."

November 25, to be exact, although I'm not telling her that for all the tea in China.

The smile on her face shows her satisfaction, and she too pays and leaves a tip.

When she exits the store, I collapse on the couch in the back.

"Your aura is horrible today, Kendall," Loreen comments. "You can't take on everyone's problems as your own."

The longest sigh in history escapes from me.

"Talk to me. I'm here to listen."

I spill everything to Loreen about Xander the Doll, all that's been happening, and my overwhelming sense of impending doom.

"You can't stop what's already been set in motion, Kendall."

"I know," I say, somewhat exasperated. "It's so hard when you have intuition but people won't listen to you."

She nods. "It's not much different than a mother looking out for a child. No matter how much she cares for him or protects him, a child is going to do what he wants. The universe has a plan for all of us and a reason for everything."

I scowl. "So the universe had a plan to crash Dragon's bike, burn down Sean's house, and try to choke Jim Roach to death?"

"I'm only saying that it's all part of the bigger plan and we can't know what that is right now. It's not in our power. Even for those who are sensitive, like us."

"Loreen, for the most part I believe that. I just can't accept that these things were meant to be, especially when all of these people say they saw Xander the Doll when these events happened. I mean, even Jim saw him in the cafeteria."

"Oh, you didn't tell me that."

"Yes, he told Sean that he saw Xander the Doll in the lunchroom. I've been seeing him everywhere, Loreen. I believe in this curse. I've seen too much in my short time in Radisson to
not
believe that the stories of him are true. I just want to know what I can do to stop him before someone gets hurt worse, or killed."

She comes over, sits with me, and gives me a hug. "You'll do what you have to do." She pulls two fives and a twenty out of her pocket and hands them to me. "Your take for the day. Go home and get some rest. Meditate and pray for guidance."

It's the best advice I've gotten in a long time.

Wearily, I park my car in the driveway. Mom and Dad are both still at work, so maybe I can get in a good nap before dinner is served.

I walk toward the back porch, where big, fat Natalie is cleaning her black fur in the sunshine. I bend down and scratch her behind her kitty ears. Her long pink tongue continues to wipe at her fur and then at my hand. The purr that motors out from her is the best sound I've heard all day.

"Does the pretty girl want to come in and take a nap with me?"

Natalie's green eyes look up at me as if she actually understands. She yawns profusely, her pink mouth opening wide enough for me to see all of her teeth.

"Come on, sweetie," I say to her.

She stands up, arching her back as she stares past me.

"What do you see, girl?"

The sweetest kitty in the world then shows her claws and hisses something fierce. I think she's hissing at me until I realize something is behind me. Not another animal, and neither of her cat siblings, Eleanor or Buckley. Something ominous and threatening—to her, to me. I slowly turn, but there's no one there. The hairs on my arms are standing at attention as I watch Natalie leap forward and swat her claws at nothing.

"What do you see, Natty?"

More hissing and a loud meow that echoes through the neighborhood.

I focus my energies on the spot where she's involved in this altercation. I don't see him, but I know Xander the Doll is there. Or was there. His essence fills my nostrils. The odor of musty fabric is present in the air.

Natalie leaps forward. I jump back.

"Is that you, Xander?"

Nothing.

Meeeeeeeow! Raaaaarrrrrrr...

"Leave me and my friends alone, Xander."

Natalie rears up on her hind legs and whacks the air again.

"Leave my cat alone!"

The air shifts and suddenly it's freezing cold in the middle of April in Georgia. I breathe out a sigh, and I can see the icy trail of my condensated breath. Okay, so that's probably not a real word, but it works here.

"Whoever or whatever is possessing this doll, I can help. Just show yourself to me."

Nothing.

Rarrrrrrrrr ... hisssssssssss...

I reach down and scoop Natty into my arms, not wanting to deal with what might be out here. I've made my offer. The next move is Xander's.

I go through the back door of the house, drop Natalie on the floor next to her bowl of Iams, and toss my book bag and purse on the kitchen table. Before I can grab an ice-cold Diet Coke out of the fridge, Penny Carmickle runs up to me with the cordless phone in her hand. Like I said, she's staying with us for a few days while her parents are dealing with the insurance payments and everything. Two Kaitlins in the house. Lucky me.

"It's for you, Kendall."

Now what?

Is Xander on the phone?

Or, worse—is it the haunted-sandwich man? I'm too tired to deal with anyone right now, particularly the haunted-sandwich man. He e-mailed again last night, saying the sandwich was now following his son to school and making him act up in class.

I wave Penny off and whisper, "Take a message ... I'm not here."

She frowns deeply at me. "I already told the woman you were here."

A woman?

I take the receiver and smile into it, knowing clearly now who's on the end of the line. "This is Kendall."

"Hi, Kendall, it's Andrea Caminiti."

"Yeah, I know."

She laughs quietly. "That's right. You're psychic."

"So they tell me," I say, trying to recover from the altercation—if you can call it that—outside. "How are you?"

Andi pauses a moment, then says, "I'm fine. We're still waiting for those DNA results, you know."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm eager to see what they say."

"Me too," she says. She clears her throat and then adds, "I wanted to reach out to you, Kendall. I had a dream about you the other night. You were in Italy."

"Really?" I say, my mouth dropping open. "I've had a psychic vision that my maternal grandparents are in Italy. John Thomas and Anna Wynn Faulkner. Emily Jane Faulkner's parents. Does the name mean
anything
to you?" I implore.

I can see Andi sitting in her studio, on the couch, nervously bouncing her heeled foot on her crossed knee. "Actually," she starts, "I never knew her full name."