The Discovery (14 page)

Her finger pointing, Farah says, "I want to get even with the damned doll."

Doll? Are you telling me Xander the Doll caused this?

"Oh yeah," she starts. "I was driving just fine—okay, I was speeding a little bit—and that
thing
appeared out of nowhere right in front of my car. That's why I swerved. I thought it was a real little kid and there was no way I was going to mow down a child. Then I heard the creepy thing laughing at me before I slammed into that tree."

I've heard the laughter too,
I tell her.

"He completely messed me up. It's bad enough that my precious Jetta is going to the scrap pile, but I missed the recital on Saturday and now..." She spreads out her hands. "Well, now I'm like this."

I'm so sorry you died, Farah. I told you to write the apology letter to Xander.

"Yeah, Steph and Court did it and forged my name. I couldn't be bothered with it because I didn't believe it. But, Kendall, I
saw
and
heard
him. He took pleasure in killing me! I want to see him pay."

I nod my head vehemently at her.
I do too. He's hurt too many people. This has to end.

Farah smiles at me. "So you'll help me, right? I mean, like, you're really psychic and all. You'll know how to fix this, won't you?"

Her beautiful eyes implore me.

How can I not help?

I don't care what anyone else thinks or believes about this evil, enchanted devil of a doll. I'm going after him. And I'm going to make sure he never harms anyone again.

P
ATRICK AND
I
WALK
back to the house after the service, leaving Becca and Celia to fend for themselves. It's not that I don't want to share Farah's visit with them ... just not right now. I need to let it soak in.

"I shouldn't be surprised that Farah came to you," Patrick says.

I nod. "Could you hear me talking to her?"

"Only your side of the convo, strangely enough."

We cross Delmonico Street and walk over to Main in silence. Patrick swings our joined hands back and forth as I kick a rock along our path. The sun shines hot overhead, and I'm starting to sweat in my funeral clothes. All I want to do is strip down to shorts and a tank and lie under the ceiling fan in my room and ... not think.

But I have to think. Farah Lewis is stuck in some sort of limbo because she has to lead me somewhere, and I need to help her find peace.

We walk into my yard, go past my mother's flower garden, and step up onto the front porch. I take a seat on the swing, and Patrick sits next to me.

"What does she want you to do?" Patrick asks.

"She wants to get even with Xander the Doll."

Patrick sighs hard. "Him again?"

"Yep. She saw him and that's what caused her to swerve." I fill Patrick in on everything Farah said to me during the service.

Patrick's brown eyes darken and he glowers a bit. "We've got to help her cross."

"Tell me something I don't know. There's even more. She says she can't leave until she helps me. That there's someplace I have to be shown." I rub my head. "I'm so confused, Patrick."

"We'll figure it out together," he says.

Tilting forward, I prop my elbows on my thighs and squiggle my hands into my hair, rubbing hard at the temples with my thumbs. "I've never experienced anything like this. A cursed doll that's wreaking havoc? I mean, how do you fight something like that?"

"You've got to get to the core of his existence," Patrick says.

"And how do I do that?"

"With Farah's help, like she said."

I shake my head and feel the tears coming again. "Farah was so talented and had such a promising future. I don't get how to justify the death of a person like that."

Patrick rubs my neck. "Everything happens for a reason."

I groan. "Everyone keeps telling me that.
What
is the reason, though?"

"I don't know, babe. I just don't." His eyes get all serious and he gazes at me thoughtfully. "What I do know is that with our combined talents and abilities, we can fix this. Remember everything that Oliver and the counselors taught us at the retreat. We have to research and explore and investigate and use our senses and deductive reasoning to get to the heart of this matter and then figure out how we're supposed to help." He takes a deep breath. "Kendall, not only do we have to help Farah pass, we have to help whatever or whoever is possessing Xander the Doll. We have to help the Farnsworth family. The pain is obviously deep and intense and it's been here too long."

Sitting up, I swivel on the swing to get a good look at the guy I've fallen so hard for. His kind eyes, his strong chin, chiseled nose, and firm lips. I move my hands over his cheeks and jaw and pull him toward me, needing to feel life flowing.

His kiss is soft and sweet, healing and therapeutic. I kiss him back with all the emotion I can muster up, relishing the feel of him underneath my fingertips.

"I'm crazy about you, Kendall," he says at last.

My heart pounds away like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode with my newfound love for him. "Ditto, Patrick. You've changed my life. You understand me. We're alike."

"We're meant to be," he says and then kisses me again.

I pull back moments later, but not in a bad way. This isn't the most opportune time to ask this, but I have to.

"Say ... will you go to my prom with me? It's in a few weeks and hopefully we'll have all of this Xander crap solved and I'll have my DNA test results and you can be with the new Kendall Moorehead."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "I kinda like the current Kendall Moorehead."

"You know what I mean," I say, smiling.

Patrick picks up my right hand and kisses the top, then turns it over and presses a kiss to my palm. I'm going to melt here on the spot. "I'd be honored to come to the prom with you."

We make out a little while longer and then Patrick forces himself to leave.

"I've got to get home. School tomorrow, you know? But I'll be here Friday afternoon. You and Celia see what you can do to get us in that Farnsworth House for a
real
investigation. It's the key to everything, I just know it."

I throw myself onto him, hugging him with all my might. He hugs me back and plants one last kiss on me.

I wait until his car pulls out of the drive and disappears up the road. I need to collapse on my bed for the rest of the day. Yeah, yeah ... I should work on that paper for Mr. Rorek, but there's still time. Up in my room, I remove Buckley and Eleanor from the pile of clothes on the floor and dig out my DKNY tank top and black shorts. I'm about to fling myself on the bed and curl up with the kitties when I realize I have unread e-mail on my computer screen.

"Oh God, please not the haunted-sandwich man." I walk over and scroll the mouse to see mail from none other than Taylor Tillson. It doesn't look like a forwarded joke; it seems more personal. I sit down in the chair and click to open the message.

My dearest Kendall!

Bonjour
or
neenjit dôonch 'yáa,
as the native Alaskans say in their Gwich'in language. I'm sooooooooo sorry I've been so out of touch. I think of you, Celia, and Becca almost every day. Life is crazy here. Dad works all the time and I'm on my own a lot. I'm still into my photography and really need to set up a website for it. The beauty of the nature here is phenomenal. I actually got a picture of a bald eagle ripping a fish right out of the water. Oh,
mon dieu!

I'm writing because Ryan called me and asked me to come back for the prom and go with him. Right ... like I can afford a plane ticket all the way across the United States for a corsage, dinner, and a few dances? LOL! The real problem, though, is that I've fallen hard for a guy here. He's a little older than we are—okay, he's nineteen!—and
il est très magnifique!
He's working part-time with my dad at the park, but he's going to be backpacking in Europe all summer. I'm trying to get Dad to let me go with him. Who knows how that will turn out.

I've really fallen for Benjamin—that's his name. And he is so into me. So I don't think it would be appropriate for me to go to the prom with Ryan. I sort of feel like I'm doing Ryan wrong, but we had to break up, you know, when I left Radisson. Same as you and Jason.

Speaking of which ... he's an ass.

He hasn't e-mailed you, has he? He keeps asking me if I've heard from you and I tell him to get a life and contact you himself. I will tell you—and I feel no loyalty to Mr. Overprotective—but he hangs out regularly with this chick at school. Her name is Zelda. Not even kidding you. Who names their kid Zelda in this day and age? I think her parents had a thing for F. Scott Fitzgerald or something. But he and Zelda are pretty much inseparable. I know you guys called it quits; however, I'm still pissed at him for not coming out and telling you about Zelda. They go to the movies all the time, she drives him home from school in her SUV—yes, she has an Escalade, hello, gas guzzzzzzzler—and they are just joined at the hip.

I didn't tell you that to hurt you,
mon arnie.
I see pics of a devilishly cute guy on your Facebook page. Who's he? New boyfriend? I need deets!

I hope you've moved on from Jason. I hope you're not pining away for him, because, Kendall, he's not worth it. He's my brother, my twin, and I love him, but he's a guy. I don't want you hurting over him. I want to know that you're happy and doing your ghost-hunting thing—which I miss almost as much as I miss you girls—and taking care of Kendall.

I promise to be better about staying in touch. As you know, it's hard fitting into a new place. But Taylor Elizabeth Tillson is doing her best. Don't you worry about me.
Je vais très bien.

Write back when you can. And hey, if Dad will let me do the backpack thing this summer, maybe you can come along? Get out of Radisson? Let's talk.

Love you like a sister!
Taylor

I can totally hear Taylor's voice as I'm reading and rereading this e-mail. Glad to see that living in the frozen tundra hasn't changed her. And Jason? Well, I suppose that for him, change was inevitable. He moved on. I moved on. I'm in love with Patrick. And he's ... well, he's hanging with
Zelda.
Funny, I always thought I'd be going to the RHS prom on Jason Tillson's arm. Now, my thoughts turn to dancing under the balloon ceiling and twinkling lights with Patrick Lynn. It's the next best thing to heaven.

First, though, I have to help Farah Lewis get to heaven and her final resting place and put the legend of Xander the Doll to rest once and for all.

It seems like forever until Friday afternoon rolls around again. School isn't the same. How could it be when such a popular member of the campus royalty is no longer with us? A flier announcing Farah's opera recital still hangs on a locker in a tormenting reminder that her voice is silenced forever. Students wander around the halls laughing less and feeling a little bit numb. I can read the thoughts of so many people...

A freshman:
Why her?

One of the motorcycle guys:
Did she have a seat belt on?

A junior:
I heard she was speeding.

The janitor:
Someone said she was on drugs. All of these kids are on drugs.

A sophomore:
I can't believe that happened here in Radisson.

A fellow student:
Farah and I were best friends in elementary school. I'm going to miss her so much.

A teacher:
How do we talk to the kids about this?

Time will heal the emotional wounds and shock at Radisson High. However, my ghost-huntress team is taking action to stop Xander the Doll from causing more chaos.

Patrick's back in Radisson. He drops his stuff off at Father Mass's and then comes over to my house. Celia, Becca, and Shelby-Nichole arrive and we all head over to the Radisson Historical Society as planned.

Mr. Pfeiffer opens the office door on the third buzzer ring. "Oh, it's you all again."

"Yes, sir," Celia says politely. "We'd like to talk to you about doing an investigation here."

He starts to close the door, but Becca puts her booted foot in the way. "Really, Mr. Pfeiffer. We've got too much weird shit going on in Radisson since Xander the Doll made his appearance at the county fair. I really think you should hear us out."

Sweat drips down his bald head, and he bites his bottom lip. Then he moves aside and grudgingly lets us in. We file past him into the great room, where we all sit on the antique furniture.

Louis Pfeiffer nervously moves about, twisting his hands together.

This man knows a lot more than he's saying.

I'm sensing it too,
Patrick says to me.

"Please, Mr. Pfeiffer. Help us," I say, practically begging.

He lets out a long sigh. "You kids are going to cause nothing but trouble. I told the historical society board that we shouldn't have brought Xander out of the house. But no one listens to me. They thought it would get us some attention and bring in some donors to help us fix this place," he says.